Tuscany South Untour, Spring 2005
by Linda Rankin and Anne White, Fort Thomas, KY
TUSCANY- THE PROLOGUE
By Linda Rankin
This year members of the Highlands Class of 1963 will turn 60. A large number of the class still live in the Fort Thomas area, and many get together often, either in person or through email. Here is the story of one 60th birthday celebration of the Class of ’63.Instead of dreading their milestone birthday, five of the “girls” of HHS ’63 decided to commemorate the BIG SIXTY in a BIG way. Their plan: An extended birthday celebration, Italian style.
The idea for the Big Birthday Trip was born in the fall of 2004, in the brain of an out-of-town girlfriend residing in Michigan. What if we rented a house in Italy? Like in the movie “Enchanted April,” we’d just leave everything normal behind and have a once-in-a-lifetime adventure together. Could we get away for one week? Two weeks? Who could go? The idea simmered. Planning began. After numerous emails and conference calls, deposits were bravely sent in and the rental house was chosen: A three bedroom, two bath, stone farmhouse atop a hill just outside a tiny town in the heart of Tuscany. (We’d all seen or read Under the Tuscan Sun.)
THE TRAVELERS
Cathy Coffman FisherAnne Johnson White
Stephanie Meade Graves
Linda Rankin
Jan Glier Reeder
TUSCANY- THE TRIP
By Anne J. White
We traveled as only three moderately old women can – with great enthusiasm and incredible discomfort. For 8 hours Linda on the window side, and I on the aisle shared a limited space between us that quickly absorbed purses, coats, and carry-ons. We crisscrossed limbs in vain seeking a comfort zone that was not to be found. Steph was recovering from a bad head cold which had left her temporarily, how to say this graciously, hard of hearing. She took an Ambien, her antibiotic, donned her eye mask, and miraculously nodded off shortly after dinner at 8:00 PM. Linda and I on the other hand napped sporadically (in spite of our Benedryl and Ambien respectively), frustrated and miserable from our cramped quarters.In Paris (deGaulle) we were surprised to hook up with fellow traveler, Jan Glier Reeder, (who had flown in from New York) within minutes of our arrival. After jubilant hugs were exchanged, we wended our way through this monstrosity of an airport, functioning on minimal sleep. None of our planes during this trip was waiting at the end of the convenient little ramps we’re accustomed to in our country. We took buses from planes, then buses to terminals, then buses to planes. Cramped buses, with little air, and tired travelers. Once at the plane, we had to climb steep flights of steps to board, lugging our carry-ons behind us. But the trip to Florence was only an hour or so, and soon, we began our descent, catching our first glimpse of Italy - rolling hills of emerald, the greens as diverse as the blues of the ocean.
While waiting for our luggage, cousin Cathy came running up to us and we took turns embracing her, jumping up and down like the children that we truly are inside, and then retrieved our rental station wagon, a Ford Focus. Keep in mind, this is a relatively small car. In addition to the 5 of us, there were 4 normal sized suitcases, our carry-ons, purses, and then there was Linda’s “steamer trunk.” It bulged a good 5 inches more than all of ours, but she was quick to point out that she’d packed all kinds of goodies for us. We struggled with the luggage for at least a half hour, until Linda made a minor suggestion that ended up solving the problem. With not one inch to spare in our little gray car, we began our journey in Tuscany, a land explosive with history and color.
TUSCANY– THE APARTMENT
Poggio Alle Rose was a quaint stone farmhouse, faded peach in color, with a tiled roof, perched on the knoll of a hill with vineyards, ponds and grazing sheep surrounding us. Beneath us, on the first floor of this old farmhouse, were two couples from Baltimore who kindly never complained about us (to our knowledge). In a separate unit was a young couple in the moving out process. Our unit was accessed by a divided set of wide stone steps in the center of the building, behind a thick rustic pine door. We shared our little entry way with a mama bird who nested close by, and once flew inside with us.Elisabetta, our apartment manager, greeted us warmly upon arrival and quickly gave us a tour of our unit. Cathy and I shared a room with twin beds (Italian twin beds are really a queen-size bed split). I was a little leery about turning over during the night and ended up sleeping mostly on my back to avoid falling out. Steph and Linda’s room consisted of one twin and one queen-sized bed, and Jan had a single in the third bedroom. The floors were terra cotta and the walls a warm beige. We had two full bathrooms, but again, their showers were no bigger than broom closets. Our entry way was large enough to accommodate a small couch and an ironing board, and the living room was a cozy nook with a functional fireplace, two small couches and a chair. But the kitchen, our wonderful kitchen, was where we shared our greatest moments, sitting around the trestle table preparing pastas that were better than any we ate in restaurants, drinking beautiful wines by candlelight, with our shuttered windows open to the night air. At dusk the sheep were herded home and the muted clanking of the bells echoed in the hills, hills layered in pinks and purples by the setting sun. We’d sit there in our nighties or warm-ups, our hearts bursting with gratitude for each other and for the experience.
TUSCANY – PLACES VISTED
Our daytrips took us to many wonderful places, through rolling hills (some steep and unsettling) dotted with villas, cypress, and meadows of wild poppies. The two main arteries in Italy, A1 and A2 form a kind of H, with Siena at the western edge of the bridge. Buonconvento, our little town, was 30 miles south of Siena. Accessing these main arteries was a bit of a challenge to us. We were navigating roads sometimes too small to appear on the map, with trucks and motorcycles whizzing by or riding our bumper. An arrow pointing straight to the left meant straight ahead. That took us awhile to figure out, maybe an extra 15 minutes here and there. And the roundabouts were a little tricky, too, since again we had arrows pointing in the wrong directions. In spite of all these attempts to discourage us, we managed to visit at least two towns every day.Buonconvento
Our very own little village was perhaps the friendliest and easiest to manage. Unlike the hill towns we explored all around us, Buonconvento was flat. It boasted at least 4 restaurants, several lovely shops, a few bars, a gas station, and a train station. Our favorite restaurants were Mario’s and Ricardo’s. They were only a stone’s throw from each other on the main road in town, with a cute bar in between. Mario’s was probably the more popular of the two, with a second story to accommodate private parties and overflow. Our waiter, Christian, was Mario’s grandson, and he quickly wooed us with his beautiful dark eyes and ability to understand English. If Mario’s had just closed for the day, Cathy would shimmy up to Christian as he swept off the stoop, begging him to re-open for us. And invariably he did, setting us up outside with a pitcher of wine and the specialty of the day. Ricardo’s was smaller, maybe not as charming as Mario’s, and owned by Alberto, a 70ish man whose menu, I found, less appealing. But there were a few dishes good enough to warrant return trips, and besides, Alberto was immediately enchanted with Cathy, who embraced him at the end of each meal. In fact, he even offered to loan her his bicycle for those days when she preferred staying home to travel.We also frequented the local hangout that sat right on the corner opposite the municipal parking lot. As we rode into town, with Emmy Lu Harris belting out her sorrows, they stood there watching us, a crowd of 15 men or more, all ages. I urged Cathy to stroll into their midst for a picture, but she never grew the courage necessary. This bar consisted of one building with a counter inside, behind which stood the little gal who both bartended and served ice cream. Outside was a large canopied area with bistro tables and potted plants. During these cool evenings after full days of travel, we topped our meal off with kalhua and grappa. Grappa is a locally distilled drink, akin to our moonshine. Only Steph and Cathy were bold enough to down a few of these. At the tables around us, the men tipped their hats or smiled at us, waiting, I suppose, for us to fall flat on our faces. Ha.
Montalcino
Our first day of exploration included the short drive to this Tuscan hill town, famous for its red wines, Brunello and Rossa di Montalcino. While Cathy, Jan and Steph took a walk along the castle wall, Linda and I combed the open market. Every time she saw wares for sale Linda announced, “The shopping gene is kicking in...I’m off!” This ancient walled city is first mentioned in 814 AD as a territory awarded to Louis the Pious, son of Charlemagne. We walked its cobblestone streets in a kind of reverence. In America we widen the road when the cars grow bigger. In Italy the cars stay small. Instead of tearing down the old, Italy restores and celebrates its past. Everything except perhaps the old women who were the same wherever we went – short, legs bent from what? All those hills? Sensible shoes, short curly gray hair, long cardigan sweaters. They hobbled along the narrow streets with their shopping bags, and sometimes a grandchild on one arm. We wondered if they had turned 60 yet.Murlot
An hour or maybe less from Montalcino is Murlot, another walled city, perched on the top of a hill, accessed by narrow winding roads. What struck us as lovely about this city was its lack of tourism and traffic. The only signs of life were an occasional newspaper, and flower boxes brimming with color. We dined in a quaint little cafe in Murlot, sharing the room with two other guests, the window behind us providing a panoramic view of the countryside. Always a pitcher or two of the vino della casa (house wine) graced our table (momentarily) as well as a glass or two of white wine for Jan. Linda and Jan favored salads for lunch. Some were more imaginative than others, but it quickly became apparent that pasta was the safest bet. The pastas were, of course, homemade, thick and delicious, and the sauces equally as good. Theirs were creamy and flavored with sausage and bacon, basil and garlic. This particular lunch was a gift of Linda’s Auntie, 90-year-old Virginia Ritter, who had told Linda to buy a round of drinks for the girls. Instead she bought us both lunch and wine.Pienza
Truly my favorite city of the trip. Considered a Renaissance jewel, Pienza was revitalized in 1459 by Pope Pius II when he decided to commemorate the city of his birth. The city itself is mostly a cathedral town, networked with small lanes leading to the main street and its piazza. Each alley/lane was breathtakingly beautiful. Turquoise doors, window boxes, terra cotta planters, walls draped with wisteria. We dined in a quaint and charming trattoria tucked in the corner of an inner courtyard, then browsed the ceramic and wine shops before heading home. Pienza was ablaze with flowers, from the terra cotta pots brimming with geraniums and daisies, to window boxes and walls dripping with wisteria. All this beauty was juxtaposed by lines of laundry, snapping in the afternoon sun, strung from window to window.San Gimignano
This is a popular medieval village, famous for its ancient towers. From a distance you think you are approaching a major metropolis, but in fact, it is another hilltop town, with magnificent views and two beautiful churches. It was here that we tasted our first ciacolatta, a thick chocolate drink you could almost eat with a spoon. Unfortunately, nowhere else we traveled even offered it on the menu, so it was fortuitous we were able to enjoy it this once. While here, Cathy and I searched for the owner of a linen shop (and there are dozens) whom her sister, Sally Coffman Biggs met during her visit to Italy a year or so ago. I practiced my Italian in each little shop we entered, pointing to Cathy as “sua sorella” until finally one young man’s face lit up and he immediately phoned his wife to tell her that Sally’s sister had arrived. That was a major accomplishment, not only for the feat of combing the many streets and shops, but for managing to make myself understood.Umbria
One of our most memorable outings was a day trip to Umbria where we were the guests of Jun and Kiyoshi Kanai, friends of Jan. Umbria, meaning Shadows, is an area bordered by the Apennines, just south of Tuscany, where the rolling hills give way to valleys darkened by mountain shadows and groves of chestnut trees. The land to me is more dramatic, maybe more masculine, than voluptuous Tuscany. Jun and Kiyoshi’s beautiful home was tucked away in a hillside just south of Orvieto, and the climb was a little treacherous. Cathy refused to look over the edge (as did I) while we drove our way up the hill, and the stifled gasps from the backseat confirmed our suspicions.Once arrived, we were guided down a wooded path under a canopy of trees to their beautiful home. This was the Italy I had imagined over the years, a small corner of paradise. The west side of the house overlooked the expansive valley below with the mountains in the distance. Beneath a walled, ivy-covered terrace, was a gravel path that led to their swimming pool, completely obscured from view by lush vines and hedges. Beyond the pool were their orchards and vineyards, all tended to by local farmers who share their produce with Jun and Kiyoshi. On the north side of this little two story stone house were the herb gardens, climbing the hill, aromatic with lavender, rosemary, thyme, basil.
We began our meal on the patio overlooking the valley, in spite of approaching clouds. Jun served us wooden bowls of fava beans which are shaped like lima beans, and eaten right out of the pod along with a variety of cheeses, platters of steamed baby artichokes, and Kiyoshi’s homemade red and white wines. When the rain finally arrived, we moved into their kitchen where we enjoyed lasagna made by the local butcher, a lovely salad tossed by Kiyoshi, and loaves of freshly baked bread. While we feasted and became better acquainted with our hosts, Frank Sinatra crooned away in the background. Afterwards some of the group hiked down the hill to explore some nearby ruins, while the rest of us cleaned up, then awaited their return. There is a scene in Enchanted April when one of the gals is sunbathing in the cove, and a small lizard crawls across her, failing to disturb the moment. The afternoon we spent in Umbria was equally as enchanting. Our gracious hosts sent us home with some blood oranges from their orchard, and souls touched by the generosity of our earth.
Cortona
Each day promised something new. Anticipation kept our spirits buoyed regardless of our travel-weary bodies. There were a few days when Cathy and I or Cathy, Linda and I stayed behind to catch up on laundry. Steph and Jan forged ahead, determined to see and experience as much as they could. We are hoping both will share with you their trips to Assisi, Siena and Florence.On the day following our trip to Umbria we drove to Cortona, the city Frances Mayes most often refers to, where Under the Tuscan Sun was filmed. We avoided the shortest route there (Interstate 40) whenever possible because to access it, we had to drive to Siena, which is a maze of traffic circles, poorly marked and frightening to maneuver. So on Cortona day, we decided to follow the teensy tiny lines on our map, which would lead us through Montepulciano, Asciano and Dolamano. Again we struggled with arrows pointing left instead of straight ahead, and had to stop once to ask for directions, when we were right beneath the freeway we needed. But the scenery was so magnificent the navigator was forgiven.
Cortona was a crown jewel for us, built in the side of a mountain overlooking Lake Trasimeno. We first rode to its summit where the Cathedral of St. Margherita offered panoramic views of Tuscany and Umbria. Later we parked the car and strolled the city’s steep and tangled web of streets. It was alarming and a bit incongruous to see cars whizzing up and down these ancient, narrow cobblestone streets when there was barely room for pedestrians. As in all of these medieval towns, the piazzas were anchored by cathedrals, with small shops and eateries branching out in every direction. The piazza we chose as a launching point was being used by an Italian film crew, with barricades tempting the brave and beautiful, and holding the rest of us back. After eating a small lunch, we went our separate ways in search of great finds, later meeting in the piazza before heading home. Most of these towns sell beautiful hand painted pottery, as well as linen, clothing, leather, wine, cheese and homemade pastas. For me, the highlight of this trip was sitting on a small bench watching the people stroll by, in all stages of life. I wondered when the legs of the young women in their stiletto heels would start to bend, aging them before their time. Did they see that as a warning? Perhaps, and more realistically, they saw that as inevitable.
Grosseto
Our next trip with the five of us was to Grosseto, a small fishing village on the Mediterranean coast, about 1-1/2 hours southwest of Buonconvento. Linda’s only request was to visit a beach, Pisces that she is. Unlike American seaside villages, which are packed with tourists and boutiques, Grosseto remains virtually undisturbed by progress. Not particularly quaint or beautiful, it sits on a glorious stretch of beach maybe 100 yards deep, with the turquoise sea just beyond. After a quick stroll along the water’s edge, we decided to find a place to eat. Many of the town’s little streets were cordoned off for reasons unknown to us. We ended up in a small restaurant, the Pantagruel, charming with its awnings and outside cafe tables. Thrilled as always to be ready to eat and drink together, we soon partook of the most expensive meal we accidentally had while in Italy. When our waiter (who probably spoke fluent English, but only spoke rapid Italian with us) took our order, we tried to make it clear that we wanted one appetizer to be divided five ways. Instead, we got 5 appetizers and a full course meal. Our tab, including tip, was 300 euros, or nearly $400 American. Lunch. We lugged ourselves to the beach again with full bellies and empty wallets, our little waiter waving goodbye to us, content with his catch.We lingered for an hour or more, collecting rocks and shells for our grandchildren before heading back to the car. The streets which had been virtually empty when we arrived were now packed with onlookers, anxiously awaiting something. And then, in a blind instant, they arrived - hundreds of cyclists, leaning forward, their bright helmets whizzing by us in a colorful blur. We had happened upon the Tour d’Italia. Out came the cameras as the bikers rode by, cheered on by the crowds, whistled at by cousin Cathy who has always been able to do that thing – put her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The excitement was palpitating. Round and round they rode. We weren’t sure if it was one group circling three times, or three groups circling once, but we felt privileged to witness the event before heading home. As I continued to shake sand out of my shoes, I thought of Cathy and Jan with sandy wet underwear, and smiled.
It is probably worth mentioning that the scariest thing that happened to us during this trip was the result of my questionable navigational skills. During the return trip when driver Cathy missed our exit due to impatient truckers riding our bumper, I was forced to find an alternate route and I did, one that took us through one mountain... and into the belly of another.
THE UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE
To right our wrong, we took the next exit off the freeway, and ended up in the village of Casiano, due north of Murlot. Things were going quite well until the road abruptly ended, roped off for some kind of festival. I suggested we circle the town and continue on. We should have taken note of the villagers at this point, staring at us incredulously as we headed down “the road not taken.” Cathy kept insisting it didn’t feel right. The backseat gals (Steph, Linda and Jan) were unusually quiet. I reminded my cousin that all roads lead somewhere and this one would, too, but when the road turned to gravel, and then to dirt, my confidence waned. Down we rolled on this treacherous path, winding around the mountain’s edge, the land falling beneath us to the right. I stared at my map in vain, searching for a dotted line, or two roads with connecting dots. The girls began admiring the scenery in an effort to lighten our sense of dread, but most of the scenery was hundreds of feet beneath us, with no railings offering security.“Look how pretty,” they volunteered from the backseat. “I’m NOT looking, I refuse to look!” Cathy replied, worried that looking might lead to turning, might lead to driving into the great abyss. We eventually ended up deep in belly of the mountain, in the driveway of an old woodland monastery of some sort, badly in need of repair, secluded in its dark niche of forest. A series of small arched doorways spanned the front of the building, reminding us of hobbit dwellings. Our road appeared to dead end in its backyard, with the exception of a small footpath leading beyond. After vetoing Linda’s idea to get out and explore the building, Cathy managed to turn our little car around. Some of us wanted to follow the narrow footpath in hopes of finding a road, but the rest of us were anxious to retrace our steps.
About 1/3 of the way up the mountain there was a shelf of land almost large enough for Cathy to back the car into and get a running start up the mountain. We crossed our fingers (this wasn’t 4-wheel drive) as she gunned the engine and spun gravel, our trusty little Ford chugging its way upward, and there were great shouts of victory when we crested the hill and she shifted gears. As usual the return trip was not nearly as daunting since we were certain of our destination. Once back in Casiano we were able to get directions from an amused bystander, who pointed us in the right direction, a simple and slight detour around the town festival.
That evening we were proud of ourselves for many reasons. We had avoided getting lost, were able to understand the directions, and had stayed relatively calm throughout. But for days we were baffled by the road that failed to appear on any local maps of the area.
TUSCANY -THE ABBEYS
Sant’Antimo
On our last Saturday in Italy Cathy opted to stay behind (which meant we’d come home to a tidy apartment and clean laundry) and the rest of us headed to a few abbeys mentioned in our Tuscany guide. The first was Sant’Antimo, one of Italy’s finest Romanesque abbeys, nestled among beautiful olive groves and wooded hills. Legend has it that Charlemagne, the Holy Roman Emperor, built the abbey in AD 781 as a way of thanking God for restoring his troops to good health after they were ravaged by a mysterious disease. Though parts of the original church remain, most of the abbey was resurrected in 1118. During our visit we were privy to a well-attended service, honoring some of the local nobility. Among Sant’Antimo’s many attractions is the Gregorian chant performed by the resident monks several times a day. We sat quietly in that musty ancient abbey, listening to the hauntingly beautiful chants, and considered the years between then and now. Steph lit candles for her family, Jan and Linda did a little exploring although most of the rooms were roped off. I reached out and touched the walls beside me wondering if, in so doing, a connection could be established.San Galgano
San Galgano, probably 45 minutes northeast of Sant’Antimo, was another legendary abbey. Although missing its roof, it boasts having a sword in stone, planted by a disgruntled nobleman centuries ago. I wasn’t terribly impressed with this building, but Jan and Steph took enough pictures of the place to fill two albums.Monte Oliveto Maggiore
This magnificent abbey sits isolated on a hillside and is renowned for its ancient buildings and great works of art, a Renaissance fresco cycle on the life of St. Benedict by Sodoma and Luca Signorelli. All except Cathy and me visited this abbey in our first few days in Tuscany. Cathy, Linda and I went back a few days before our trip ended. Our timing, however, was off, and we arrived just as the abbey closed for the afternoon. In Italy most of the businesses and restaurants close in the afternoon. Often we had to search for a place to eat, or beg owners to open for us since we consistently forgot this important fact. Although we were denied access to the abbey itself, their outdoor restaurant was open and we enjoyed a few glasses of Coke (more expensive than wine) and a platter of crostini, toasted baguettes with a variety of toppings, including crushed olives and pate. I might add that in order to discover the abbey was closed, Cathy and I descended an enormously steep hill, which meant we’d be ascending it afterwards. Linda suggested we drive down since the hill was not only steep, but also poorly paved, but I felt confident after surviving the trip to Cortona with its roller coaster hills. I was wrong. Cathy climbed effortlessly as usual, turning every so often to wait for me as I lumbered up behind her, my legs reminding me that they now belonged to a 60 year old. Linda remained at the top. She’d already experienced this hill days before and I should have heeded her warning.TUSCANY – THE WIND UP
Florence
Our last trip was the 90-minute ride to Florence, Tuscany’s capital, where we would spend the night before departing for home. Steph and Jan had taken the train a few days earlier in order to see as much as time allowed. That morning Cathy, Linda and I stripped our beds, emptied the fridge, carried our 3 dozen wine and vodka bottles to the dumpster, and said goodbye to our cozy little apartment on the hill. Rather than return our rental car to the airport and taxi into the city, we decided to drive into Florence and drop it off at the Avis station there. We arrived at this magnificent city around 11:00 AM along with everyone else in Italy. Lanes of cars moving quickly, turning this way and that, with virtually no traffic signals. We were so intent on finding the Avis garage; we failed to notice our surroundings until we crossed the Arno on the Vespucci Bridge, only two turns away from our destination. Giddy with our accomplishment, we settled the rental bill while we watched cab driver haul our suitcases out of the Focus and swing them into his car. And then, for a few short minutes, we got to experience Florence with somebody else at the wheel. We were breathless with wonder. Florence is bathed in gold, a soft luminescent city of domes and ancient buildings.We stayed at the Hotel Pendini, a block of rooms on the 4th floor of a lovely old building, which was accessed by an elevator big enough to accommodate two passengers, or one passenger with a suitcase, or perhaps, just Linda’s suitcase. Cathy and I shared a room, as did Linda, Jan and Steph. After signing in we were told Jan and Steph had come and gone and would meet us later that evening. Cathy quickly assessed our room, its lack of a view, the skinny beds again, and a small bathroom which was probably only 3 x 6 feet but included a small tub/shower, toilet and sink. She made sure I was made aware of the step up to it, and the step down from the tub, knowing my constant struggle with the unfamiliar.
The Hotel Pendini was only a block away from the Piazza del Duomo, an enormous pulsating wheel of the city with the famous Duomo (cathedral) at is hub, and the bell tower and museums nearby. Jan and Steph had actually climbed the famous dome the day before we arrived, its ascent so claustrophobic Steph could barely manage it. With their backs to the wall in the higher elevations, they inched their way along, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of others in an airless passage. Steph elected not to climb the last leg of the journey, but Jan made it to the top and said the view was worth the trip.
Also in this piazza were dozens of leather and clothing shops, restaurants, kiosks and a beautiful old carousel which mesmerized us as we sat down to lunch. Again we paid twice what the meal was worth by having the waiter bring our selections to us instead of picking them up at the counter and carrying them outside ourselves. But it was our last afternoon in Italy, the clouds were rolling in, and our only concern was locating the nearest bancomats before we started shopping. No sooner had we finished eating than Linda bade us farewell, announcing, “My shopping genes have kicked into gear... I’m off!!” We had heard about the huge market near the train station where row after row of the genuine item and its imitation were sold at bargain prices.
Cathy and I ambled around our piazza with its many vendors selling their wares, some in organized and licensed kiosks, others on blankets on the ground for limited times only. When our arms were laden with treasures for our families and friends, we walked back to the hotel for a refresher nap. We awoke later to find Linda safely returned, and were astounded with her purchases - hundreds of euros worth of Louis Vitton purses, wallets, suitcases, in every shape and size. Of course she was shopping for many of her friends as well, so the euros spent were not only hers. I couldn’t imagine her carrying these bags the distance between the hotel and the station, or begin to understand how she found her way back. She said it took two trips, was a long distance away, and that she kept asking strangers, “Pendini??” When she espied the carousel, she knew she was close. If I’d had one more day in Florence, there would have been trips to some of the finer cathedrals (maybe) and a trip to that train station market (for sure).
The Last Supper
That night after we met up with our fellow travelers and had cocktails in our hotel, we found an appealing restaurant and sat down to our last dinner together. The smells were tantalizing, from the chickens roasting in the kitchen, to the lovely bouquet of newly opened bottles of wine. We toasted each other again, this time with the melancholy that accompanies endings.Arrivederci
We were at the airport, tickets in hand by 5:30 AM the following morning. Jan flew to Paris with us, but we had to say goodbye to Cathy in Florence. This wasn’t just a goodbye until we see you again. This was a goodbye to an experience first dreamed and then shared. I grabbed my cousin and we held on to each other for several moments before releasing. Then we caught our respective buses to the plane and began our return trip. We said goodbye to Jan in Paris when she boarded her plane for New York, again the bittersweet letting go of each other.When the customs agent said, “Welcome home!” Linda nearly threw her arms around him, elaborating in great detail how she was so glad to be home to her washing machine, microwave, good food, better bread. After clearing all the necessary check points we waited a few minutes for my husband to pick us up, and drove the remaining miles in relative silence. One by one we said our goodbyes and returned to our daily routines, a few dollars poorer than when we left for Italy, and richer in ways too profound to express.
EPILOGUE
Cathy: We went to play. To view a piece of our splendid world. It was spiritual, warm, comforting. Beauty as far as the eye could see. Mouths open in laughter and awe. Southern Tuscany.Steph: Were we really there? I must keep the memory of undulating chartreuse velvet hills dotted with black green cypress and cedars, horizons of tower and castle ruins, narrow winding streets amid active and busy medieval cities, the scent of garlic and old churches and fabulous wine and food, as the urgency of my life returns. Meetings, jury duty, deadlines, decisions, yard work, clogged gutters, appointments, hurry, hurry! I miss the sleepy, smiling faces that would greet me each morning and the hysterical laughter that was such a part of our day.
Linda: At this point the trip is just a pleasant haze to me, a haze of lavender and wine and cypress trees.
Jan: Am still basking in the glory of red poppies, purple iris, rolling green hills, winding roads, stone walls and towers, great wine, camaraderie, company, friendship, love,and on and on. It was a perfect vacation and validation of 60 years so far lived. I have had a bit of trouble adjusting to real life again.