23 June, Hotel Panda, Roma
The trip to Rome was so easy. No underpasses for the Pisa train, though we did have to take the bags off the bikes. Then lifts (hurrah!) to change platforms for the Rome train, and we were able to drag them on loaded. Our carriage was air-conditioned, and we used the time to get the Cinque Terre photos and Lucca photos chosen for the blog. We also chatted to a couple who live in Switzerland and manage a rich man's ski chalet, and go cycle touring between times. They were about to start the Orbetello – Siena ride. It was strange to come back through some familiar territory, including Orbetello, and Civitavecchia from where we took the ferry to Sardinia. Actually, we put some more photos of Sardinia on the blog yesterday. They've been added to the first blog entry.
We rode and walked from the train to Pensione Panda. The traffic was busy but not ferocious, and Mr GPS ably guided my navigator. The Spanish Steps were swarming with tourists – it was amazing – the Panda was two streets away, in a very elegant area of super expensive shops. The bikes went into a storeroom on the first floor, and we lugged our luggage up to the next floor and our very unusual – but sparkling clean, and at 108E a night, very cheap – room. Think one small bedroom with view across to pretty green shutters and roof garden up and opposite and down to the street, and a winding staircase with a shower cubicle at the first stair, a little toilet and bidet at the top on the left, a single bed with shelf at foot and head.
We were PRETTY EXCITED to be in Rome so we quickly unpacked, putting all the bags upstairs, setting out the food, and hiding the stove. Then on went the glad rags and we were out the door and walking in our neighborhood. We walked down the street full of Prada and Gucci and then let our feet take us wherever, gazing around in wide-eyed wonder as if we'd just arrived in Europe. The . buildings are so huge and sumptuous though and street-scapes glorious. In one laneway Phil noticed a number of body-guards leaning against the wall apposite a bar. I asked the waiter what was happening. A senator was having a drink there. A woman went across to him, kissed him on the street and climbed into his lap for a photo. Most exotic! Houses of parliament, and black cars and drivers waiting outside. We were hungry and had been looking at restaurants. Finally we chose one and it was an awful meal – and expensive because the extras (bread, water) were phenomenally dear. Ah well. I resolved to look in the Planet for the next night.
On into deep dusk and we happened upon Piazza Navona with its wonderful central fountain by Bernini. We stood in the bar opposite and had a drink watching shadows flickering on the fountain and tourists enjoying themselves, and Indian sellers of multi-coloured glowing circular rings which they were firing into the air. We recommenced wandering, in the direction of home after getting directions from the waiter, and came upon a supermarket for breakfast and lunch supplies. Then on again and came across a piazza with fountain, where an opera singer was singing famous arias, and an enthusiastic crowd had gathered. I would have stayed all night – how romantic – but Phil dragged me away after three songs on account of being tired. In fact we'd wandered a pretty far and had a long walk home.
Thursday 24 June
We slept with the window open and just a sheet on us – the days and nights are humid. People were having fun in the street below til very late – around 1am, and then the street sweeping and garbage collection starts early – think thousands of glass bottles being tipped into a truck at around 5am in the e morning. Allora, we're on Roman time; late to bed and late to rise - so we slept through it sort of and then rose to have showers and breakfast in our ship.
I wanted to ride to Villa Borghese, because I saw it was set in the midst of a giant park, but Phil didn't feel like the GPSing necessary, so we walked – the long way around as it turned out – and it was hot and took ages and I realised that I was tired. However, instead of having to buy tickets in advance we got the last two “walk straight in” tickets, so we did and the sculpture was just as wonderful as it was 29 years ago; there was Persephone trying to flee from Perseus but he's got her, and his fingers are pressed into her flesh and you could swear it was flesh and not marble. Then the next room and Bernini's utter masterpiece – he was only 23/25 when he sculpted Apollo and Daphne. He desires her, she rejects his advances. He pursues her through a wood and she begs the god ----- to save her. Her prayers are answered as he is upon her. She is transformed into a tree. The sculpture catches her in those few moments of transformation. Her toes are putting out roots, her outstretched fingers and hair is sprouting leaves and branches, her legs and belly are partly sheathed by the trunk, and it is this that his encircling hand gently holds. She has escaped him, but given up her human existence. It is a most intoxicating creation. From the back you can see only him, flying in pursuit. It is beautiful, balletic, graceful, and the marble has been sanded so finely that it glows.
There were other lovely things, and pictures upstairs, but that sculpture was what we had come back to see.
A walk home the shorter way via some leather shops, a salad picnic lunch in our little cabin upstairs and then Phil did things on the NET while I fell into bed and slept for two and a half hours. I woke to be told we had an email from our Nafisa, telling us we had a new prime minister. Amazing!
This was a day for sculpture. We also wanted to see Michelangelo’s Pieta again, which is in St Peters in the Vatican. It's a tourist hot-spot, but we hoped that by going late the hordes might be reduced. So, we walked to the Steps, hopped on the metro and went 3 stops. Then a walk, through security, and at 6.20 there we were with only a handful of others. (It shuts at 7pm.) The Pieta is hauntingly beautiful. Two slight figures. A beautiful Mary mourning her dead son, whom she cradles in her arms. It's behind glass now, ever since a crazy took to it with an axe, but it radiates purity, sadness, stillness, grace. We looked at St Peters fairly quickly after this, but were impressed with its cohesion. Michelangelo built the dome after someone else's design, and Bernini was responsible for most of the interior design. Amazingly it hasn't been fiddled with and 'improved' since then ( ) and so the statuary fits its enormous scale, themes re-occur and everything is in proportion so we found ourselves admiring it much more than last time. A last look at the Pieta and it was time to go, admiring the Swiss guard in his brightly coloured silk stripes – like a page from a book of fairy tales.
We walked across to the cafe across the road after this. They served us 4 biscuits and two small slices of delicious chocolate cake (all unasked for) with our decaf cappuccinos, and then charged us 10E ($16). We'd eaten it, and complimented them on the cake – what can you do? C'est la vie!
We planned to walk home very circuitously because I’d checked out the Planet for recommended restaurants and we'd plotted them on the map. We were hoping for an enjoyable dinner after the debacle of last night and a look at some new territory on the way.
Now, you probably think there would not be much left to report, and so did we, but the evening soon took a frightening turn.
We found one of the recommended restaurants, and got a table outside. A little later a woman and her daughter came and sat at the table next to us and we gradually started chatting. It turned out they were from California and in Europe for two weeks to celebrate her 50th birthday, leaving her husband (who couldn't leave work) and the twin brother (who didn't want to come) at home. Unfortunately the daughter (who looked 24 but was actually only 15), had had gastroenteritis two days before and had been so sick that her mother, Tricia, had to call a doctor who'd prescribed medication for her. She'd felt so lethargic on the medication that they had made the decision to stop taking it at lunchtime, and now she was trying to tentatively eat something which was not fried and not dairy.
They had just arrived in Rome. After a lovely week in Paris they were feeling sad that because of the gastro they had had only one day out of three for sightseeing in Florence and she still wasn't well for Rome. We chatted pleasantly – they were fascinated with our adventure- when McCall, the daughter, started stretching her neck. It was sore she said. Tricia said she was a most high-maintenance child. I went to massage her neck and shoulders. When the stretching became involuntary spasms, Tricia called the hotel to arrange a doctor and went to organise a taxi. For a while I could lessen the severity of the spasms by pushing down hard with my thumb on the muscle between the shoulders and the neck, but then the strength of the spasms became enormous (think broken thumb) and we all became really afraid because as her head went back her eyes rolled back as well. It came to me that she was really, really sick and that whatever it cost, she needed an ambulance and not a doctor. I mouthed 'ambulance???' questioningly to Tricia, and she nodded, looking terrifed, and went to ask the manager to ring. He only understood when I made the sound of an ambulance. Now we were all really frightened. Sitting in their hotel room the next day we confessed that each of us was secretly terrified that she'd have a massive seizure and die. The restaurant manager asked if she'd like to lie down, and put some chairs in a row inside the restaurant. McCall was glad to lie down, but it didn't lessen the spasms and eye rolling. I went looking for somebody in the restaurant who spoke English and Italian in case we needed someone to translate for the ambulance driver, and a man identified himself as a doctor and left his dinner to see her.
He did some checks. She knew her name, she could follow a pencil with her eyes, she could bend her legs lying down, she wasn't dizzy when she stood up. He said it was not meningitis, and that he didn't think that we should worry, but that was not reassuring.
[Phil says]
After what seemed a long time, an ambulance came, and we went with Tricia, Gail in the back, and me in the front, with the driver helter skelter through the pedestrian streets taking no prisoners, with no seat belts for anyone. Then full speed ahead and across the Tiber to the hospital which was nearby.
On the way, Trish realised she didn't have any documentation. Also, the medication McCall had been on for a day and a half was back at the hotel. I was despatched in a taxi to get them. The hotel was fantastic – I did not have any ID, just a scribbled safe combination, Tricia's US cell phone number and the key to their room, whose number she did not remember. They were expecting me though because McCall's father had rung from the USA. The manager opened the room and found the medication, immediately ringing Tricia up with the details, and sending me and one of the desk staff back to hospital in a taxi with the passports. The taxi driver, having been told it was an emergency of some kind, took a firm view, hitting 90kph at one point, and treating red lights with the disdain they deserved.
The upshot was that uncontrollable muscle spasms were a known side effect of that medication. They put McCall on a saline drip to help flush the medication out of her system, gave her a shot of muscle relaxant in her rear and said she'd need to stay in hospital for the night. They tried to keep Tricia out of the ward without success. She stayed in the room sitting on a hard chair until McCall was released at 10am the next morning.. She told us later that it was the longest and worst night of her life
Once I arrived back at the hospital neither of us were allowed back to see McCall who had been enormously brave and dignified the whole time. After all that, we walked home stopping for a prosecco in Piazza Navona and a gelati as we walked, getting home at about 1.30.
Friday 25 June
We got up late, as you might expect. Gail had had lots of time to read the LP on the Vatican last night, while sitting in the emergency waiting room, and we decided we should go the Vatican Museum, particularly to see the Sistine chapel. This involved booking ahead so that we got into the 2pm time slot.
Getting there was a bit complicated. We went to the Metro, but it was stopped (for what seemed to be a stop-work meeting). So, after piecing together our limited info about the buses, we concluded that there was probably a bus from Piazza Navona. There was, but when we arrived we found the stop work included bus drivers as well. All else failing, we took a taxi and arrived just before 2pm.
[Gail says] We grabbed a pannini from the cafe across the road, but then had to stand at the entrance and eat it, while streams of people went in ahead of us. Finally we joined the human river which was following the signs to the Sistine Chapel . On and on and on we flowed, down whole corridors of sculpture, past enormous tapestries, through rooms of medieval art and through what used to be the pope's private apartments with the entire walls of rooms frescoed by the who's who of Renaissance painting ….. Raphael, his master, his students… . Then still onwards; up and down little staircases, then through rooms of modern art until I felt like one of the boys on a bush walk when they were little asking plaintively, “Are we there yet?” We estimated that we walked between one and a half and two kilometres. When we reached the cafe and we still WEREN'T THERE YET, we stopped and had a reviving icecream. Another ten mins of walking through stuff we weren't remotely interested in, and finally there we were, squashed almost like vertical sardines, into the Sistine Chapel.
Michelangelo spent four years painting the ceiling, from scaffolding he designed himself which allowed him to be upright, but bent backwards – and it wasn't even his idea. One of the popes instructed him to paint it and wasn't interested in M's protestations that he was a sculptor and not a painter. You can actually see the difference in the first two ceiling panels he painted. The figures are much smaller than the rest of the ceiling (too small from down below) and they're too sharply shadowed. After that it seems he got the hang of it and proved the pope right - his beautifully large, muscular figures and expressive portraits float on the ceiling (and especially its huge curved edges), clothed in rich and shimmering garments of pastel hues. So an elderly man is wearing soft green, mauve, rose, ochre, lemon. It sounds crazy but it looks fantastic. I particularly love one of his very famous portraits, of a girl holding a paper scroll in her hands. She's been looking to see whether she's in or out (of heaven) I guess. We weren't allowed to take photos, but I photographed a postcard of her, and we'll put it on the blog. Michelangelo was then instructed to paint the Last Judgment on the end wall. This time I didn't like it as much as the ceiling. The other walls are covered by frescoes by Raphael and others, but Michelangelo's outshine them all.
[Phil says]
That was the visual part of the audio-visual experience. The audio came from the attendants, who called out to the crowd every 30 seconds or so, in stentorian tones: NO TALKING! NO PHOTOS! The mighty hum of conversation and tour guide commentary would ebb for 5 seconds, and one or two people would stop taking PHOTOS for 3 seconds, then off it would all go again.
After all that we went to the relatively deserted Vatican Pinacoteca and looked at pictures. There were a few Raphaels and Titians and it was an easy gallery to look at because of its relatively modest size.
Then it was closing time and we flowed with the human tide down the famous circular staircase, out into the world and to the café across the road where we started. We chatted to a family just arrived from Florida, with two boys about 8 and 10, all equipped with i-phones with Vatican guides on them. We were quite impressed with their planning and the clever use of gadgetry to keep the kids caught up in the experience.
We dropped in to see Tricia and McCall and see how they were going. We were welcomed warmly, and McCall seemed to be on the improve. There was mutual photography and fond farewells.
Now it was time to eat – we were hoping for a drama free dinner, which we achieved. However, our plan to go to another recommended restaurant was less successful – they were booked out. Gail cleverly asked one of them for a recommendation which they happily gave and we had a pretty good meal. We were entertained by watching the next tables where a family of four (at one table) and a quartet of – I was going to say Englishmen, but one was Scottish – each hoed into half or so of a roasted cow, accompanied by nutritionally sound potato chips.
The quartet turned out to be principals of Catholic schools in East Anglia – evidently, all the regional principals come over to Rome together for a 3 day pilgrimage. Given the beef and the red wine which was flowing, these four appeared to be refugees from the pilgrimage, as they freely acknowledged.
Saturday 26 June
Check out day today, but Hotel Panda was happy to look after our luggage while we savoured the last day of Rome tourism by visiting the Pantheon, first stopping in a beautiful church. The Pantheon was terribly impressive and atmospheric, the best preserved Roman building of, well, the Roman world.
We continued our wandering to an absolutely fabulous icecream shop(claimed by LP to be the best in Rome, not without justification). We were abstemious, having the smallest 2 flavour tub…. 4 times for 8 flavours of which our favourite was whichever one we had just had.
We found ourselves in a jeweler's as we walked and found ourselves looking at rings and found ourselves buying them (no point in wasting all those Euros), so I now have a ring very like the one my father wore. Then up the Spanish Steps for some shopping and present buying. The plan was to get on our bikes at about 6 so we could ride to La Maison Jolie in Fiumicino (our very first hotel near the airport) which was storing our bicycle bags.
As we walked and shopped and had a coffee or so, the blue sky turned grey, greyer, and black. By the time we got to Pensione Panda, the heavens had opened. Undaunted, we changed, put on raincoats, and headed off, to find the rain was stopping. We took the scenic route – down Via Corso to the Vittorio Emmanuelle monument, inadvertently going the wrong way round the roundabout, until we realized the error of our ways, and that perhaps setting the GPS to pedestrian mode had its disadvantages.
Then past the Forum and on to the Coliseum, around (the outside of) which we did a victory lap. Out through the suburbs on the route of the old Roman road to the port, and surprisingly quickly into the countryside. The traffic was fairly heavy, and keen as they were to get to their Saturday night destinations, the drivers were as considerate and tolerant as usual.
Mr GPS was on his best form and guided us past the airport and, symmetrically, along some of the very roads we had ridden when we set off from Fiumicino in early April.
La Maison Jolie was good, again, and had dutifully kept our stuff. We got there quite late – riding in the dark for the last bit, and managed to get to “our” restaurant at about 10.30.
Sunday 27 June
Our initial thoughts had been that doing anything more than packing up on Sunday would be too much. After the rain, though, we certainly did not need to wash the bikes, and we decided to take advantage of our location by riding to Ostia Antica, about 8km away.
We had been there 29 years ago, on a day excursion from Rome. It is the ancient port at the mouth of the Tiber and is very well preserved (at least the first 2 metres in height are well preserved). We enjoyed and visited some old friends, such as the Temple of Jupiter, the ancient Roman café (eerily like a modern café, though, obviously without the espresso machine, or, indeed, the coffee) and, of course the public toilets. 29 years ago we took photos of each other at some of these sites but decided to avoid invidious comparison by focusing on the scenery this time.
Back to La Maison Jolie to collect our bags and, yes, ride to the airport (about 5km away). After considering various means of getting ourselves, bikes, bike bags and luggage to the airport, we hit on the obvious solution. It was the hairiest 5km we rode in Italy. We did manage not to get on to the Autostrada to Rome, but there was no real shoulder, the traffic was heavy and moving fast, and, unlike everywhere else we had ridden, the drivers did not expect bikes to be there, which made it a bit unnerving.
Anyway, we got to the airport, took the bikes apart, organised our luggage, cleaned up and went to check in. The man on the counter was obviously a cyclist or a fellow traveller. His rigorous check in procedure involved weighing one bike and nothing else. He did ask us what we thought things weighed and whether the bikes were the same weight. In fact, all the staff went out of their way to make it easy to get sorted. Our difficulties turned out to be self-inflicted.
It was a 10pm flight. The boarding passes, on a cursory look, said something about 9.40. We were concerned about being fed, so we had brought a picnic to the airport. Once we had got rid of the bikes , we found a quiet spot and had a leisurely meal, reading an English language paper. We did this in the terminal not the departure area, because we had some nice yoghurt which would not pass security.
At about 9.25, we thought we had better head to the gate. Well, folks, this was not Kansas. Security was a breeze – quick and simple but passport control was crowded, with long , slow moving queues. The clock was ticking. Gail explained our problem to the officials who let us go through the gate for EU citizens. Then., loaded with panniers and bits and pieces, we sprinted up the escalators following the signs to our departure gate. We got there. It was a train station. We had to catch a train to another terminal. The train came after what felt like several hours. We got there, sprinted, again (just as well it had been a cycling holiday), to the gate, where our friendly check in bloke was now stationed. We were, naturally, the last passengers to get on, and a look of mild concern and mild relief flickered across his face as he waved us through.
We collapsed into our seats, which were not that flash (as it turned out, on either leg), despite checking in on line last night within an hour of being able to), and wished Italy farewell until next time as the plane took off.
Since we have been back, people have asked what the highlight was. The true answer is all of Italy, and each other.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Lucca
19 June Albergo Diana, Lucca
The alarm went at 6am this morning, so we could pack, I could wash my hair, we could get everything down those steps, go and buy train tickets so we wouldn't have to queue later - and still have time for breakfast before the train went. I went for the tickets while Phil zip-locked my front pannier rack to its fork I've lost a screw.
We were right on time so had a leisurely breakfast while outside rain began pelting down. It was still bucketing down when we reluctantly emerged. I was wearing skirt and sandals for the train journey. We sheltered under the dripping awning of a little fruit-shop, donned warm tops and rain-coats and made a dash for the tunnel to the station. We needed to make two changes to get to Lucca, and it poured the whole way. The last train was a “roll on “ into the train [Yes!!] with just three steps up to the bike compartment, but the friendly yet completely inflexible young female conductor made us take everything off the bikes so they could sit in the bike hanging area.
It was still pouring down when we arrived in Lucca. First stop was lunch, then we looked for somewhere to stay. Now everyone has raved about Lucca, so right from Australia I really wanted to come here. But, riding round in the rain we decided it in no way compared with Verona, and felt rather let down.
We sheltered in a bar and found a likely looking guest house on the net – the Planet's recommendation was closed for siesta. The room was fine, and it's only 60 a night. We are very glad there's no camping at Lucca. A tent in this would not be fun. We had a rest for a bit after we'd settled in, and read books – or rather I did while Phil had a snooze. We have a night up our sleeve between these three nights and our three nights in Rome, so decided to look around Lucca tomorrow and decide whether to extend our time here or try and get another night at the Panda in Rome.
After this rest we went walking and had a glass of wine each in a small bar playing the Blues Brothers soundtrack – there was also a counter of little snacks, so we snacked. Thus refreshed, we walked a bit more and eventually found ourselves a little trattoria for dinner. The rain started coming down as we headed home for bed.
Sunday 20th June Albergo Diana – Lucca
It was raining this morning, so we slept in, then made breakfast in the room. We downloaded the last lot of photos and cleaned them up, then went looking for a supermarket for lunch supplies. When we finally found one it was shut.
The rainy morning turned into a bright sunshiny day. We bought a ticket for the duomo and the de-consecrated church of San Giovanni. There was a fabulous carving of a young woman there– a funerary sculpture – she died at 23yrs after the birth of her second child. Then lunch at a pleasant open air trattoria, sitting in a little piazza opposite a church.
We found the tourist office after this, and finally got a map. There was a bike-shop next door - I got a pair of souvenir cycling gloves, and we replaced our water-bottles. Then we wandered about and found a fabulous cheese shop, and then a deli groaning with produce and delectables. After this we went to San Giovanni and looked at the archeological site underneath it. There were about 5 layers including the present structure. The earliest constituted Roman baths, a kiln and mosaics from the floor of a house. Pretty amazing! Outside it a table was set up with information about nightly concerts as part of an on-going Puccini festival. We think we might go tomorrow night.
Lucca isn't Verona, but it's got lots of charm aside from the famous wall which encircles it. We found ourselves liking it more and more, and although there are a lot of tourists here, it's quiet – so very relaxing. This is just what we wanted, because Rome is coming next and we know it will be pretty full on before the flight home.
We went out again for dinner, to the same place we went to last night, and were greeted with friendly smiles. It was 8.45 when we walked in, and we were only the second table there, when we left it was full. My crème caramel for dessert (!) wasn't any good, but the rest was fine.
21 June Albergo Diana, Lucca
It was raining early on, so we burrowed back beneath the bed-clothes for a while until the sun came out. We had nothing for breakfast, and we aren't supposed to prepare food in the room, much less use our gas stove to heat water for tea. We usually keep the stove hidden, but this morning we decided to pack up stove and bowls etc, buy our cereal, milk, yoghurt and bananas, and have a picnic breakfast.
This wall which encircles Lucca isn't edged with battlements; it's an elevated pressed gravel roadway which is 4kms long, and gives great views onto the houses and gardens backing onto it, and Lucca's street-scapes, towers and church bell-towers. Locals walk and cycle round it, and tourists love to hire bikes – normal, tandems, tag-alongs and baby carriage tow-alongs – and cycle around it. We went up to the wall, found a sunny concrete seat, spread the sarong, and boiled the stove and made breakfast, thereby getting smiles from locals and tourists alike.
We dropped into another bike shop on the way home, and there was a sale on. We came out with a cycling top and new pair of socks each. Then we went back up on the wall, and rode around it to near here.
I did a bit of washing and strung it out over the shower and basin on our stretchy twisted clothes-line – apparently we're not supposed to wash clothes either. (Phil's been reading the rules!) Then we set off again, and rode around the walls to the big supermarket outside them so I could have Finocchio (fennel) tea, which I love, and which is very hard to get in Australia. A lady with 'poco' English managed to give us directions to a camera shop and we had prints made of the afternoon in Verona with Morag's host family, as a thank you.
After this we had a look at the gardens of Palazzo Pfanner, and went inside. Nice but pretty expensive. Then we picked up some salad-y food for dinner going across town at passegiata time. Everyone's out, and although it's 5.45 and some people have left work, no one’s hurrying. There are dogs on leads, lots of bikes, heaps of pedestrians and the odd car or taxi. The bikes don't ring their bells and cars don't toot, because it's their job to quietly avoid pedestrians without anyone alarming anyone. It works. When the pedestrians get too thick to cycle through – this means packed solid – the cyclists turn themselves into pedestrians for a few minutes. People just move aside pretty good naturedly for the cars nosing along.
We had a quick bite back here, then went to an enoteca Phil had noticed with a special 'promotion' for those Puccini concerts. For one euro more than the advertised price, they sell you a ticket and provide a glass of wine and a small cheese and salami platter – or in our case a cheese and honey platter. This was a very civilised way to spend the 30 mins before the concert. Then into the church where Puccini was baptised for an hour of arias from Puccini and Mozart, delivered by a pretty talented bass and soprano and accompanied by a lovely pianist. There wasn't a very big audience, so it felt very intimate. They warmed up as they got into it, and the applause grew more and more enthusiastic. In the end they repeated their closing duet for us – “La ci darem la mano” - where Don Giovanni sets about seducing Zerlina.
Home for an illegal bout of food preparation, then diary writing and bed.
22 June Albergo Diana, Lucca
We planned another picnic breakfast, but had to change rooms because we needed another night and they needed our room for three. After re-installing ourselves we had breakfast in our new room, and caught up with diary, photos and blog.
Then we packed part of a picnic lunch and went to climb the Tower Guignini – it's the one in the photos with trees growing out of the top of it. The views were gorgeous and Phil coped with the height.
A few more provisions, lunch on the wall, and then shopping for presents.
Back home to send some emails, and then a flying visit to the supermarket (for breakfast and lunch for the train to Rome tomorrow) just before it shut at 8pm.
After this we liberated the bikes and took them for an entire 4km circumnavigation of the walls as the sun was setting, joining other bikers, dog-walkers, just walkers and joggers .
Then we rode to a restaurant which was very pleasant inside and had good food which didn't really warrant the price.
The alarm went at 6am this morning, so we could pack, I could wash my hair, we could get everything down those steps, go and buy train tickets so we wouldn't have to queue later - and still have time for breakfast before the train went. I went for the tickets while Phil zip-locked my front pannier rack to its fork I've lost a screw.
We were right on time so had a leisurely breakfast while outside rain began pelting down. It was still bucketing down when we reluctantly emerged. I was wearing skirt and sandals for the train journey. We sheltered under the dripping awning of a little fruit-shop, donned warm tops and rain-coats and made a dash for the tunnel to the station. We needed to make two changes to get to Lucca, and it poured the whole way. The last train was a “roll on “ into the train [Yes!!] with just three steps up to the bike compartment, but the friendly yet completely inflexible young female conductor made us take everything off the bikes so they could sit in the bike hanging area.
It was still pouring down when we arrived in Lucca. First stop was lunch, then we looked for somewhere to stay. Now everyone has raved about Lucca, so right from Australia I really wanted to come here. But, riding round in the rain we decided it in no way compared with Verona, and felt rather let down.
We sheltered in a bar and found a likely looking guest house on the net – the Planet's recommendation was closed for siesta. The room was fine, and it's only 60 a night. We are very glad there's no camping at Lucca. A tent in this would not be fun. We had a rest for a bit after we'd settled in, and read books – or rather I did while Phil had a snooze. We have a night up our sleeve between these three nights and our three nights in Rome, so decided to look around Lucca tomorrow and decide whether to extend our time here or try and get another night at the Panda in Rome.
After this rest we went walking and had a glass of wine each in a small bar playing the Blues Brothers soundtrack – there was also a counter of little snacks, so we snacked. Thus refreshed, we walked a bit more and eventually found ourselves a little trattoria for dinner. The rain started coming down as we headed home for bed.
Sunday 20th June Albergo Diana – Lucca
It was raining this morning, so we slept in, then made breakfast in the room. We downloaded the last lot of photos and cleaned them up, then went looking for a supermarket for lunch supplies. When we finally found one it was shut.
The rainy morning turned into a bright sunshiny day. We bought a ticket for the duomo and the de-consecrated church of San Giovanni. There was a fabulous carving of a young woman there– a funerary sculpture – she died at 23yrs after the birth of her second child. Then lunch at a pleasant open air trattoria, sitting in a little piazza opposite a church.
We found the tourist office after this, and finally got a map. There was a bike-shop next door - I got a pair of souvenir cycling gloves, and we replaced our water-bottles. Then we wandered about and found a fabulous cheese shop, and then a deli groaning with produce and delectables. After this we went to San Giovanni and looked at the archeological site underneath it. There were about 5 layers including the present structure. The earliest constituted Roman baths, a kiln and mosaics from the floor of a house. Pretty amazing! Outside it a table was set up with information about nightly concerts as part of an on-going Puccini festival. We think we might go tomorrow night.
Lucca isn't Verona, but it's got lots of charm aside from the famous wall which encircles it. We found ourselves liking it more and more, and although there are a lot of tourists here, it's quiet – so very relaxing. This is just what we wanted, because Rome is coming next and we know it will be pretty full on before the flight home.
We went out again for dinner, to the same place we went to last night, and were greeted with friendly smiles. It was 8.45 when we walked in, and we were only the second table there, when we left it was full. My crème caramel for dessert (!) wasn't any good, but the rest was fine.
21 June Albergo Diana, Lucca
It was raining early on, so we burrowed back beneath the bed-clothes for a while until the sun came out. We had nothing for breakfast, and we aren't supposed to prepare food in the room, much less use our gas stove to heat water for tea. We usually keep the stove hidden, but this morning we decided to pack up stove and bowls etc, buy our cereal, milk, yoghurt and bananas, and have a picnic breakfast.
This wall which encircles Lucca isn't edged with battlements; it's an elevated pressed gravel roadway which is 4kms long, and gives great views onto the houses and gardens backing onto it, and Lucca's street-scapes, towers and church bell-towers. Locals walk and cycle round it, and tourists love to hire bikes – normal, tandems, tag-alongs and baby carriage tow-alongs – and cycle around it. We went up to the wall, found a sunny concrete seat, spread the sarong, and boiled the stove and made breakfast, thereby getting smiles from locals and tourists alike.
We dropped into another bike shop on the way home, and there was a sale on. We came out with a cycling top and new pair of socks each. Then we went back up on the wall, and rode around it to near here.
I did a bit of washing and strung it out over the shower and basin on our stretchy twisted clothes-line – apparently we're not supposed to wash clothes either. (Phil's been reading the rules!) Then we set off again, and rode around the walls to the big supermarket outside them so I could have Finocchio (fennel) tea, which I love, and which is very hard to get in Australia. A lady with 'poco' English managed to give us directions to a camera shop and we had prints made of the afternoon in Verona with Morag's host family, as a thank you.
After this we had a look at the gardens of Palazzo Pfanner, and went inside. Nice but pretty expensive. Then we picked up some salad-y food for dinner going across town at passegiata time. Everyone's out, and although it's 5.45 and some people have left work, no one’s hurrying. There are dogs on leads, lots of bikes, heaps of pedestrians and the odd car or taxi. The bikes don't ring their bells and cars don't toot, because it's their job to quietly avoid pedestrians without anyone alarming anyone. It works. When the pedestrians get too thick to cycle through – this means packed solid – the cyclists turn themselves into pedestrians for a few minutes. People just move aside pretty good naturedly for the cars nosing along.
We had a quick bite back here, then went to an enoteca Phil had noticed with a special 'promotion' for those Puccini concerts. For one euro more than the advertised price, they sell you a ticket and provide a glass of wine and a small cheese and salami platter – or in our case a cheese and honey platter. This was a very civilised way to spend the 30 mins before the concert. Then into the church where Puccini was baptised for an hour of arias from Puccini and Mozart, delivered by a pretty talented bass and soprano and accompanied by a lovely pianist. There wasn't a very big audience, so it felt very intimate. They warmed up as they got into it, and the applause grew more and more enthusiastic. In the end they repeated their closing duet for us – “La ci darem la mano” - where Don Giovanni sets about seducing Zerlina.
Home for an illegal bout of food preparation, then diary writing and bed.
22 June Albergo Diana, Lucca
We planned another picnic breakfast, but had to change rooms because we needed another night and they needed our room for three. After re-installing ourselves we had breakfast in our new room, and caught up with diary, photos and blog.
Then we packed part of a picnic lunch and went to climb the Tower Guignini – it's the one in the photos with trees growing out of the top of it. The views were gorgeous and Phil coped with the height.
A few more provisions, lunch on the wall, and then shopping for presents.
Back home to send some emails, and then a flying visit to the supermarket (for breakfast and lunch for the train to Rome tomorrow) just before it shut at 8pm.
After this we liberated the bikes and took them for an entire 4km circumnavigation of the walls as the sun was setting, joining other bikers, dog-walkers, just walkers and joggers .
Then we rode to a restaurant which was very pleasant inside and had good food which didn't really warrant the price.
Cinque Terre
Wednesday 16 June B&B Riomaggiore in Cinque Terre
Today was my birthday. Phil went to buy breakfast and came back with yummy little cakes to follow our special K, banana and yoghurt concoction. Then it was packing everything which had climbed out of its pannier over the last 4 days, so we could be out by 12pm. We had to take 3 trains to get to Cinque Terre and at each station we had to change platforms. (Bounce bikes downstairs, unload them, carry them upstairs, return for panniers, re-load onto bikes ready to race to bike compartment when train stopped, unload panniers, lift bikes then panniers onto train.) We were a bit over this by the end of the day, particularly because we missed our connection at Parma by a whisker and had to wait 2 hours for the next one. (Phil had worked out a different set of connections, but we were overruled by the computer system, which delivered an itinerary which didn't cater for trains arriving late or our laborious platform changing.)
However, nothing fazed us because it was my birthday!
On the first train to Parma we met a young chap from Kosovo who was laboring in Italy to help pay for a new house for his family. The old one was destroyed by the Serbs. It turned out he was going to La Spezia too (almost all the way). He helped us with the bikes at Parma, thereby missing the connection too. Because we had two hours to spare, and because we were already equipped with a nice picnic lunch, we invited him to join us. Mr GPS found us some pleasant gardens, we spread the picnic sarong and enjoyed lunch together. Back on the train we showed him our Northern Territory photos, which passed the time very pleasantly. Two hours later we were in La Spezia, where we connected for the 8 minute trip to here.
We arrived at about 9pm and then spent the next hour trying to find a room in gathering dusk. The town is like a 3 dimensional jigsaw puzzle. There are steps leading to passageways and rooms and more steps and more passageways etc. Each inspection of a room involved step marathons. I wanted a nice-ish room because it was my BIRTHDAY, but the first seemed likely to be mosquito ridden, and the next two were laughably awful – really awful. This one is quite pleasant – though pretty dear. Our (own) tiny bathroom is down the corridor, but we have quite a nice view of the upper part of the town.
It costs 70 euros a night – the Novotel special deal averaged out to 80!
We were so exhausted with these room inspections after the nervous energy and weightlifting of train connections, that the idea of carrying everything up steps then seemed a gargantuan task. So, sweaty and sticky as we were, we went to dinner, parking the bikes across the street, and actually had a really nice meal, which revived us enough to get everything into our room by midnight. Phew! What a birthday – but we're here and madly looking forward to it.
17 June B & B Riomaggiore
This morning we woke to solid rain and the sound of either trains rolling through the tunnel at the bottom of the hill or thunder (we now think it was thunder), and reconsidered the walk. However, after we had a good breakfast (which involved walking down the many steps then up the street and some more steps to another branch of the hotel/B & B operation), the weather started clearing and we decided to walk. So, a change from the winter woollies to light clothes for walking. Off to the National Park office to buy tickets. Sorry, all but the first part of the walk (2k out of 12k) was closed because of the weather – some wishy washy explanation of heavy rain, slippery rocks, landslides and tourists falling to the sea.
Plan C = ride the bikes. We headed off on the LP Cinque Terre ride (or at least part of it). Up the long hill from Riomaggiore. Lovely sea and headland views, then joined the road which runs above the 5 towns of Cinque Terre, climbing into the hills behind and taking the turnoff to the last town, Monterosso for a big downhill and the train home.
It was a magnificent ride and we enjoyed it enormously. We alternated between forest, and terraced farmland and vineyards (with many of the properties having their own little miniature funicular railway) with sea vistas and bird's eye views of each of the 5 towns.
We ate our picnic lunch in beautiful sunshine waving to walkers who were doing the 38km walk, which we assumed must be open (it passes well uphill), and thoroughly enjoyed riding unloaded up and down the undulations (if a 300m climb is an undulation). We were back in the wildflowers, as well – pink, purple, yellow and white this time.
We reached Monterosso at about 7, just in time to pick up a train that ran express to Riomaggiore. 8 minutes later we were here. Showers, then dinner at a little restaurant by the tiny harbour where the food was pretty good and the service was offered on the basis that we should be grateful that they were prepared to feed us.
Then home to bed.
18 June B & B in Riomaggiore
Today was the other half of our exploration of Cinque Terre, intended to include the 12km coast walk from village to village. But, the elements were not on our side. We woke to, yes, the sound of rain. We thought it might clear up, which it did, but suspected that the track would remain closed. Right again, unfortunately. So, we trained it back to Monterosso (along with a squillion other tourists) to explore that village a bit more and do a little shopping for presents. (This was divided thus; Gail shopped while I read the paper and had a coffee and offered advice and opinions as and when required.) Then we did little hops back through the villages taking the train between each one, until we got to [ ], the nearest to Riomaggiore, from where the track was open. It wasn't so much a track as a series of substantial walkways, but there were lovely views of the cliffs above and the rocks and sea below, and wildflowers were out everywhere here too. It was called the Via d'amore and people had padlocked little locks onto anywhere possible, and thrown the keys into the sea presumably. You had to wonder about the combination locks though, and the large lock with two small ones attached.
The villages are all lovely – similar in many ways, but each was also distinctive. We walked down to their harbours (one doesn't have any access to the sea), and generally just pottered about having lunch and icecreams to sustain us.
We arrived back at sevenish. There's a wine-bar perched on the end of the cliff, so we stopped there for a shared glass of red from this very town. It was really lovely. Just enough time to work out trains for tomorrow and catch up on the diary before going out for dinner.
We were sorry to miss doing the 12km hike between all the villages, but very glad we'd done the ride yesterday.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Milan, the Lakes, and Brescia
7 June Hotel Casa Mia Milano
Today's plan was to ride to Prato and catch a train to Bologna.
However, after 11 days in Florence we were a bit disorganised in packing up and didn't get away in time to ride to Prato, so we decided to catch the train to there as well. Then we chatted to a young couple from NZ who had spent 7 years in London and were planning to cycle back to the Antipodes over a couple of years stopping to work in the winters. The result was that it was a bit of a helter-skelter to get to Florence station for what I thought was the 10.40 train to Prato – a creature which did not exist, as it turned out. While I fumed and fretted, Gail made inquiries and found there was a train to Prato a bit later with a suitable connection to Bologna.
We bought human tickets from a machine – no problem. The tickets for our machines, however, had to be bought from a human, at the end of what the information desk described as the “very long” queue. Gail queued and I watched trains.
The train was fine with a spot for the bikes and people helped us get them off at Prato. One of the helpers was on his way to Bologna and continued to help. Prato station had lifts(!!) and the Bologna train sat in the station for 10 minutes or so, so we weren't rushed. It had a good, relatively easy bike compartment. The scenery between Prato and Bologna was gorgeous, even from the train, and extremely hilly.
Our helper of 35 years accompanied us. He was a Tunisian resident in Italy, who spoke no English. He managed to communicate that he wanted Gail to find him a wife among her friends in Australia. She said she would mention him, but most of her friends were a lot older than he was. This was not a problem. His advantages were that he is available, has a residency permit in Italy and is “sportif” with hot blood. He was well intentioned and very helpful with the bikes. Enquiries may be directed to us by email.
Bologna looked less than inspiring and Gail, intrigued by the fact that the bike ticket (long queue, inconvenient to get etc – see above) lasted 24 hours and could be used on any bike carrying train, and concerned that our helper might give us his undivided attention for the duration of our stay in Bologna (as it happened, he said goodbye and left us at the station quite cheerily), suggested that we might continue to Milan today rather than tomorrow. The fact that it is a major fashion centre did not enter her mind of course.
So we did continue to Milan, after having a picnic in Bologna between trains – not tourist territory, we thought and, given the absence of tourists, we were not alone in that view.
The country from Bologna to Milan was flat, and looked absolutely uninteresting as cycling territory – we were glad to be on the train.
Net result – three trains, a total of about 8km of riding, and 2 nights and a day ahead of us in Milan, which so far has appeared to be a really stylish, pleasant city. We found an OK hotel with a place for the bikes, went for a walk, then had a quite nice dinner made up of an antipasto buffet, fruit salad and a lot of water - the weather is very warm and humid.
We have discussed how to spend our time tomorrow. Museums are not high on the agenda. There will be further reports.
Tuesday 8th June Milan B&B
Yes. Well I had this idea that since Milan is the fashion capital of Italy, I might pick up a little thing or two – even if I had to post something back. So we took the underground into Milan, and then after looking at the Duomo (it has hundreds of spires, but it's not a patch on Sienna's), Phil left me peacefully window shopping while he went back home to get the number he needed to continue our internet service. In the end our bank balance was safe, because I saw lots of interesting clothes but only one really gorgeous shirt/blouse. It was constructed as a 'teddy' though. No thanks!
I had two drinks in that hour and a half. 26 degrees but with 88% humidity feels exhaustingly hot! The first glass of water cost me 50c (80c Australian) standing up at the bar of a nice cafe in the stunning arcade which runs off the Piazza Duomo. I sat down outside the same bar for my next drink. A little bottle of water with lemon and ice in a glass brought by a waiter cost 3Euros and 50c. ($5.60 Aust)
We paid to go into the La Scala museum after this, and were allowed a 3 min peep into the so famous theatre . I took an illegal photo and was chastised firmly for this. “Madame, it is written very plain that photos are not allowed.” I felt guilty. Other tourists break that rule all the time, but that didn't feel like a reasonable excuse.
We went home after this. The metro trains run every few minutes, but we spent ages trying to find our line. The pleasant trattoria where we ate last night was happy to see us again.
Wednesday 9th June Lake Como – BnB
We decided we might actually use our bikes today and ride to Como but in fact it was a pretty horrible ride. The suburbs of Milan stretched on for ever, with traffic lights every 100 metres or so, (well it felt like that!) and one long section of road was very narrow. It was 25kms before we felt we were out of it - and then the villages joined up to form one vast urban strip. So it was noisy and the opposite of restful. However we can't praise Italian drivers enough. They are so good to cyclists. If they see we need to come out round a car, they hang back and let us go. And they don't squeeze past like Australian drivers do but give the widest berth possible, even if it means going right up to and over the center line. And at roundabouts! Allora! (Allora means: well/so then/go on[when someone stops speaking]/are you coming?/Ok.) Italians use it all the time in conversation and I love it). Allora, in Australia when I approach a roundabout I've developed this defensive technique of stretching out my arm in a very clear signal that I'm coming through. When I do this, drivers wait obediently for me. Before I started doing this though, the car with JUST enough time to go, would, and the car behind it which DIDN'T have time, would also jump out. Allora, here it still amazes me, but I approach a roundabout and the car which has plenty time to go through ahead of me instead comes to a graceful halt. Without exception. I still watch of course, to check that they're stopping, but they always do.
And, while I'm on the subject of bicycles. Riders get the best of both worlds.They're treated with respect and consideration on the road, but if the road is busy it's perfectly acceptable to ride on the footpath – carefully of course, and watching out for pedestrians. Just as it's perfectly acceptable to carefully ride the wrong way down a one way street, or along a station platform, or in pedestrian only areas. All of the above is frowned on or outlawed in Australia, so why the difference here? (I've been pondering this for the last few days.) The answer is that here the un-helmeted person on the bici (beechy-kletta) may be a teenager or a child, but just as likely will be a mother or father with a child on the back, or a man with his briefcase or newspaper in his basket, or an elderly woman in nice skirt with her shopping in the front and or back basket, or an elegant woman in filmy dress and high heels, or an elderly gentleman. So, in Italy, people of every age ride bikes – and of course they ride at a speed appropriate to where they are - so it's not necessary to enact draconian laws about what they may and may not do; they're just pedestrians who happen to be on wheels. (Of course there are lots of helmeted roadies in lycra, but they're riding on roads – fast.)
Anyway. We found a nice park for lunch with sweet green grass and a little lake and fountain. We were drenched with sweat and tired out from the relentless traffic, so we spread the sarong in the shade of a leafy tree and ate tomatoes, crunchy radishes and cheese and had a rest while an old man came and sat near us and sailed his remote controlled two foot long yacht on the lake Then on to Como, along the relatively flat but quite built up road, as the enormous shapes of the Alps suddenly rose ahead.
Como was far more elegant and picturesque than we were expecting. We found a nice B&B (there was no camping) and had a really lovely dinner. We were supposed to be moving on, but it looked too nice to leave, so we changed our plans (again), and made new ones.
Thursday 10 June Camping Rivabella at Lecco
We decided last night that Como was worth another day, and found that there was a train to Lecco in the late afternoon.
The plan was to ride around the west side of the lake through some little villages. We had set off to do this yesterday evening but the traffic was heavy (peak hour, in fact – as we found at the station, Como is on the suburban line from Milan, and the trip is about 45 minutes. People live near the lake, park near the station, and commute into Milan, or the intermediate suburbs/towns).
The first place we went to Cernobbio, which was very pleasant with some large villas. However, it became apparent to us that the best way to see these places was from the water. We found a rather handsome little ferry terminal. The ticket seller told us that we could do a little round trip for some way up the lake by buying a return ticket on the passenger ferry which left every 25 minutes or so. That sounded good but we needed a nice picnic lunch first. There were plenty of boutiques and restaurants as we rode through the village, chatting on the way to a couple from Bergamo who were most enthusiastic about our little adventure, but nothing resembling an alimentari. We did find Villa D'Este (a mere 600-700E per night) which appeared to have beautiful gardens but the uniformed gentleman at the gate said that not even cyclists were allowed in (presumably, unless they were guests.)
Gail asked a woman who appeared to be carrying some shopping where we could find an alimentari. She thought for a while and gave us some detailed directions in fairly rapid fire Italian, which she repeated a few times. We found to our surprise that we grasped what she was getting at, and set off. Just up the way was the road to Switzerland, and on this road was a shopping center with a mega-hyper-supermarket, which, according to Gail, sold everything we could conceivably want for lunch if only she could find it.
We ate lunch by the lake, feeling rather pleased with the world (and the view), then got on the ferry to admire the villas, which we did.
Then back to Como for a look around, and perhaps a trip up a funicular to see the view, but it was hot and humid, and the haze was thickening, so we contented ourselves with the sights of Como, and a coffee in the square, watching (and trying to photograph) the great variety of passing cyclists.
The train was a little old fashioned affair, and the conductor was helpful and curious. It pottered through the villages on the way to Lecco, stopping at stations which had little lawns instead of platforms. Lecco looked impressive as we arrived, set on on the shores of another branch of Lake Como and overlooked by large mountains. We got to the campground devoid of provisions to find it did not have a shop, though the bar could produce a cheese and ham roll. I set off and found a supermarket about to close, and bought what I could for dinner and breakfast before I was ushered to the checkout as the last remaining customer. The campground is set by the lake with ducks, swans, waterfowl and sociable holidaying Germans. One of the Germans gave Gail a glass of juice, and another gave us his stove to use as our gas was petering out. Socialising was cut short however by the swarms of voracious mosquitoes, second only to their cousins in the Northern Territory. We decided that tomorrow night's dinner would not be cooked by us by the side of the lake, but by somebody else, to be eaten by us while sitting inside.
Fri 11 June Camping at Lecco
Allora, while riding through those incredibly affluent and speccy villages of Lake Como, and riding past elegant women especially, who just smelled of money, I've been thinking about this business of finding pleasure in life. Especially since we are told that no matter what our circumstances, we adjust to them. No matter how much we eagerly anticipate the new kitchen, it doesn't stay exciting for long. So, how does one avoid complacency? Kiew Sook said that cycle touring made her “appreciate everything”, and I've been thinking about that.
Why? Allora – you don't take much for granted.
There's hills to stickily grind up in the full glare of the sun, and the joy of flying (while drying) down the other side. Even in flat, brown dry landscapes there are invariably things to see, but you cherish green, undulating, wildflower covered ones, with lakes and mountains in the distance; there's headwinds (hard) and tail-winds (I'm feeling so strong – wow riding is effortless today); there's rain, hail and shivering cold cloud mist and then there's air which kisses your skin and blesses you.
On horribly busy urban roads, you're grateful for courteous drivers, when it's scorching hot you're glad there isn't also a headwind, when it rains you're glad it isn't also cold, when it's also cold you're glad of that great raincoat. And when it stops everything is fresh, glistening and wonderful.
This is without even considering the question of accommodation. A camping site made in heaven, or one besieged by mosquitoes. A tent which is wondrously dry the next morning, and not a wet, icy or muddy thing to deal with. The exquisite pleasure of a shower, or even just a bird-bath at the end of a sweaty day, and the wonder of a room with your own bathroom and hot water which comes out of taps.
So, there's no monotony in cycle touring. Days are made of many parts, but in total there are not- great days, and medium days, and fantastic days – and this was a fantastic day.
We left our panniers in the courtyard of the B&B in Lecco and took the train to Colico to ride back to Lecco beside Lake Como. Colico was a pretty town – we finished our breakfast of bread and jam looking out over the lake and took pity on the African man from Senegal who came to show us his wares. What a way to scratch a living. So, we let him show us, and bought a little coin purse and some bracelets at prices which we knew were inflated.
Then through fields of corn to forested slopes around the lake, with its occasional little beaches of white pebbles, to the 11th century Abbazia di Piona which had been recommended. Up and up, then down, down, down on a roadway made of rounded stones which my brain insisted were slippery, even though they weren't.(Ever since falling I'm nervous on anything slippery.)The abbey was beautiful. When we opened the door to the ancient and unusual church the monks were praying at the back of it though, so we looked around its gardens and had a coffee and a chocolate covered orange sorbet on a stick while we read about all the remedies (many alcoholic) made by the monks. Sadly, the church and cloisters were shut on the way back. Ah well. We'd had a brief glimpse.
On to the church at Corenno Plinio, and a wonderful surprise. The village between it and the sea was so tiny it felt secret and private. We walked down it's narrow steps, through stone arches in cool shade and down to the shore of the lake. Round the corner from someone's terrace with bright flowers in pots, was a little private harbour with three dinghies bobbing about in the warm sun. A couple more canoes/boats were pulled up on a tiny white pebble beach. Above were veggie gardens, and roses tumbling from handsome stone houses.
A few more kilometres of blue lake and luxuriant wooded slopes, with houses and veggie gardens and I was suddenly drenched in sweat and trembling with overwhelming, voracious starvation. So much for our blue plastic plates to put salad on. We hadn't seen a shop and now I felt I could hardly ride another metre. The restaurant round the next corner only had cold food, but she did have some potatoes which had been cooked with garlic and butter if we would like. We ate the salad, and Phil watched with amusement while I scoffed the potatoes. Did she have more? Unfortunately no.
After lunch the houses by the lake became more and more gorgeous. Across the lake we could see snow still on mountains. When we got to opulent Varenna, the lake split into two arms. There was a ferry we could take to the other side of 'our' arm. It didn't go for another half hour but we decided to take it anyway. It was fun to see beautiful Varenna from the water, and 15mins later, Bellagio was just as stunning with gorgeous waterfront hotels and canopied cafes and restaurants.
We had a 3 min ride along the front - past the wealthy in their immaculate dress. We looked strange to them I know, but there are different kinds of wealth, and I felt very happy with ours and our amazing, self-contained freedom. It was 6.30pm by this time, and Mr GPS informed us that there were still 30 odd kilometres to go, with a stiff climb out of Bellagio. Time to get cracking! Luckily, it's not absolutely dark until 10pm.
There were great vistas of lake, villages and mountains to photo while climbing – then we dropped down to the shore and found we were in the shade, which made it a perfect temperature for riding. This side of the arm was less intensively settled, and the road wound around the edge of the lake through lovely trees with lovely villages to look at on the other side and mountains rearing high above them. There were two tunnels to go through – the second was a good 2 kms long and we both felt very spooked despite our flashing lights. Cars sound horribly loud, the lighting is only dim, and a sign had said 'no bicycles'. There's no alternative road though, so what cyclists are supposed to do is a mystery. There were almost as many roadies as cars in the tunnels however, so that was cheering. I decided I felt a bit more empowered if I made my own noise, so I sang “Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune so no-one will suspect ...” at the top of my voice.
We found a great restaurant for a shared pizza and risotto and salad just before we got back to Colico – it was late and we couldn't endure the mosquitoes – and got home at 10pm. Allora, today had been one of those red-letter days.
The only cloud on the horizon appeared when we got the restaurant bill. Nothing wrong with the bill except the date, which was a day later than we thought (somehow lost a day in the last week). That is, we realised, our rendezvous with Morag is tomorrow, not the day after. This required a change of plan – we will go to Brescia by train and ride from there.
Saturday 12 June
We had to work out where and how to ride, since we are going straight to Brescia. Our new plan is to spend 4 nights and 3 days in Brescia – Saturday night and Sunday with Morag, and Monday and Tuesday doing the first 2 days of the lakes ride in LP, unloaded using Brescia as a base. The recommended hotels in Brescia seemed expensive, so I got on the internet and investigated some deals. The Novotel was offering a cheap room if we paid in advance on a non refundable basis.
After a leisurely breakfast (so that we could finish our beautiful limy-green Tuscan olive oil), and visiting the local market where Gail bought cheap and delicious peaches, we took the train to Brescia, which involved a change at Bergamo. Today was the first day of the school holidays here (3 months long) and the stations had lots of excited teenagers going here and there in bands. Both stations of course had stairs but no ramps or lifts, so the bike lifting Olympic training continued.
I misread the timetable at Bergamo with the result that we were on the train well and truly before it set off (spent 20 minutes wondering why there were no other passengers, what the delay was and why the driver and conductor were so relaxed).
In this train (and some others), the spacious bike compartment with hanging hooks (which we try to avoid) are just behind the driver. There is a seat which you can sit on to sort yourselves out for the trip, and the driver leaves his door open. This particular driver said we did not need to hang the bikes and we persuaded him to accept a peach to go with his mineral water and sandwiches.
After a brief discussion, the Novotel at Brescia saw the sense of not charging us to park our bikes in the secured car park (10E a night for a car), and we settled into our comfortable room in the new part of Brescia. No character at all, no views etc but relative luxury and we appreciated it, especially the air conditioning, the space and the comfortable bed.
Morag is teaching for 2 weeks in a holiday program for primary age students and staying with a host family – Ermanno and Daniela, and their 2 children. They invited us to dinner, so we took a bottle of wine and some chocolate. Ermanno and Morag picked us up. The host family lives about 12k out of Brescia in a modern suburb, and had also invited Grazia and Robert, their close friends who also have 2 children about the same age as theirs (10 and 7) in the program, and are hosting Elgin, one of the other teachers.
Dinner was pizzas, wine, orange juice, limoncello, aniseed liquor, some other kind of liquor, beer, coffee, tea and a lively cross language conversation. Over dinner, we talked abut our plans for seeing Brescia and this lead to discussion about how we should also see Verona, which lead to the proposal of an impromptu visit to Verona, for everybody. So, we are heading off to Verona tomorrow at about 4pm (after the heat of the day), with two Italian families, Morag and Elgin.
Sunday 13 June Novotel Brescia
This morning and afternoon, we took full advantage of the comforts of the Novotel to sleep in, catch up (to some extent) with the diary, and read. Lunch was a bit improvised because the supermarket over the road (very convenient) was not open (not so convenient).
At about 4 we wandered out to find Ermanno and Morag already waiting. We went back to Ermanno and Daniela's to find the assembled group and convoy of cars, and off we went along the autostrada. I'm glad we are cycling and training it – traveling on the autostrada makes everything seem busy, urbanised, and pretty unattractive.
Verona turned out to be a remarkably beautiful place – we went into the beautifully preserved Roman arena which was arranged in readiness for the summer opera season – Aida's sphinxes were on big trailers outside while the stage had the set for Turandot in place. It evidently holds 30,000.
Then we walked through the town, eating an icecream, looking in shop windows and admiring the churches, buildings and piazzas, and the broad fast flowing Adige river. We saw what was said to be Juliet's balcony in an old palace, though we had to peer through the gate as the building was closed when we got there. We walked along the river to the fortress and fortified bridge. It was quite a lovely and lively place. By this time it was about 10pm and everybody else had to get up for work, summer school etc, so we ate a roll as we walked back to the cars and set off home.
At about 11, we took up the Novotel's assertion that it had a 24 hour menu, somewhat to their surprise. The restaurant manager gallantly produced soup, some very nice fresh bread, and a pot of tea.
Monday 14 June
Today was an accidental epic of cycling.
We caught the 9am train to Bergamo, with the idea of following the LP ride from Bergamo to Iseo, via the shores of Lake Iseo then getting back to Brescia on the little train line between them.
The first part went to plan.
We rode from Bergamo along a river valley for 20k or so. Like a lot of the north as we have experienced it, the valley was built up to quite a significant extent with a reasonable amount of industry. The effect is that you are really on a suburban ride.
After a while the road turned away from the valley and began climbing on a pretty easy gradient to Abbazia, a village with, according to LP, a well preserved abbey. We stopped outside the village church and filled up the water bottles from a fountain (i.e. a tap with running spring water), then rode though it looking for the Abbey which was a bit elusive. We took a GPS inspired short cut up a really steep little street through the village, looking back for the abbey without success.
At the top of the street, which we had to walk up even without our bags, Gail asked a woman where the abbey was. She gave us directions which involved going back down for about two kms. So, we did. After more directions from some elderly cafe customers we found ourselves back at the village church by the fountain,which was the abbey! We would have noticed this perhaps if we had read the sign. So we looked inside and then went back to the cafe for a reviving coffee, in my case, and to look for an alimentari selling lunch supplies, in Gail's case.
I was successful, she wasn't, so we had an icecream instead and set off back up the hill, this time avoiding the steep short cut. The road was pretty, with great views back into the valley, and some prosperous farmhouses. Near the top we were overtaken by two cyclists from Canada, who were staying in an apartment in Bergamo and doing day trips on their road bikes. They said they found the drivers in Italy not so good for cyclists, which surprised us, but then said they had been in France last year, and the drivers there were really good, so it's all a matter of comparison. They agreed that the drivers in Canada were much worse again – sounded a bit like Australian car culture.
At the top was the chapel of the Madonna Dei Cicli, dedicated to cyclists, and a statue of a ciclisti with a guardian angel. All very encouraging for the downhill which swept through hairpin bends with lovely views of the valley below and the mountains ranging around it.
We found a supermarket to finally buy supplies for lunch (it was only 3.30 after all) and a pleasant lakeside park to eat it in.
After lunch we set off for the next climb over what turned out be a not very big hill to Lake Iseo. This was a rewarding climb, because Lake Iseo is well below the first lake, with a nice long hairpin descent with really spectacular views. We lost each other for a while, going in different directions along the lake but eventually sorted that out.
The ride along the lakeside to Iseo was quite long, and OK, but not a patch on our Como ride. The high point was chatting to a beautifully decked out Italian road cyclist about this and that, and having him tell us he was 70, and that he rode for 2 or 3 hours most days. He looked in his 50's and was fun to ride with because, as well as being a pleasant man (and telling us to look him up when we came back to Italy), he dealt with the 2 tunnels we went through by sitting up and riding nonchalantly without lights, hands on hips and elbows stuck out. He owned the road and the cars were there on sufferance.
We found Iseo and got to the station as the 7.33 train was leaving. Never mind, we would have dinner in Iseo and catch the 8.33 train. Bought the tickets and validated them. Dinner in the square was pleasant but the service was a bit slow. Never mind, I had read the timetable and there was a train at 9.33.
Finished dinner, went to the station to catch the 9.33. Ticket office shut, departures display showed no departures at all, arrival display showed one arrival. Found the station assistant who said, yes, the trains were finito, and they had been surprised when the people with the bici had not turned up for the last train after buying tickets. Oh dear.
Fortunately we had brought some lights. Brescia was 20 odd k away. The wine with dinner was perhaps regrettable in all the circumstances, but we had no real choice, did we? So off we set in the gathering dark. Mr GPS did a sterling job of keeping us off busy roads, it was mostly flat or down hill after a few climbs, traffic was light and the evening and night air was pleasant. The last few km into Brescia were on the interminable side but at 11pm and 120km from Bergamo, we pulled, just a tad weary, into the hotel and amused the desk staff with our adventures (Alfredo from the desk plans to come to Australia next year and has an invitation to stay for a while.)
Tuesday 15 June Novotel Brescia
Our plan had been to do the second day of the LP ride to or from Lake Garda, but a combination of our tiredness after yesterday's marathon, the fact that much of yesterday's ride had not quite lived up to expectations and the fact that is was raining pretty seriously made the decision to stay in pretty easy. We caught up with the diary – one had a sleep while the other wrote, and then vice-versa. It stayed wet all day. So lucky we had good weather yesterday. Eventually we walked into Brescia, and found an ok restaurant for dinner.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Florence
27 May Camping Michelangelo Florence
We planned to take a train to Empoli to avoid the hills on the way to Florence, but when we got to the station, the train was going right through, so the only puffing and panting involved in getting to Florence was lugging panniers and bikes – and in Pierre's case, their trailer – down and up platform steps. Phil and the GPS took us through Florence to the campground, and it seemed quite surreal because we rode past the Duomo and the Baptistry, through the famous Piazza della Signoria and across the Arno, successfully dodging hordes of tourists.
The campground is right beside Piazza Michelangelo, where we free camped 29 years ago because the campground was shut. It's on a hill above Florence, so we have beautiful views of the city through the trees. The red-tiled roof of the duomo is just over my left shoulder as I type sitting here in the outside cafe.
It was late afternoon by the time we found a spot and put up the tent, so we cooked a joint dinner and planned the next day.
28 May Camping Michelangelo Florence
We walked around Piazza Michelangelo, taking photos and pinching ourselves to believe we were really here, down the steps where we discovered a little neighborhood of shops we could buy things for tea at, and across the Ponte Vecchio dripping with jewellery shops. We saw the outside of the Chiesa di Orsanmichele, with all its statues, gave our regards to the boar at Mercato Nuovo (on the last day we'll rub his shiny nose to ensure we return again!) then walked to the Duomo and admired the facade from a handy doorstep.
The statuary is more restrained than that of the Siena Duomo, but it has a powerful poetic, geometric grace – and it's huddled up to the 12th Century Baptistry and surrounding buildings, which adds to its impact. After this we were exhausted, and found a little restaurant and had pizzas for lunch. Sitting DOWN! Then back to the Duomo to see its inside and the excavations underneath it. You can see the remains of three preceding churches, all at slightly different floor levels including some areas of beautifully preserved Romanesque mosaic floor. We could also see the galleries inside the dome where the walk to the top went. It looked “frankly terrifying” to Phil and was immediately crossed off his 'to do' list. He says has no problems with heights. He leaves them alone and they leave him alone!
We passed the rest of the afternoon strolling past Palazzo Davanzati, wandering along Via de'Tornabuoni looking in the windows of some very expensive shops (Prada, Gucci....) and through Palazzo Strozzi. Then to the Piazza del Signoria (the civic centre of Florence from time immemorial) for a close look at the statues in the Loggia Dei Lanzi.
By this time, the end of our tether was well in sight, and we called it a day. On the way back we picked up provisions from the little shops in our new neighborhood. Eleanor cooked, or at least supervised the cooking of, dinner, which was a 6 part joint venture between us, Pierre and Eleanor and Karen and her husband from Lucerne. A good time was had by all and we fell into bed at about 11 after realising that we had spent 7 hours in Florence in the day, with all but 45 minutes on our feet.
29 May Camping Michelangelo Florence
Too tired to move. Time for a rest day today. Wrote postcards and diary in the outside campground cafe with Florence spread before us, then I shopped for dinner while Gail had a long nap in the tent. Made a shared dinner with Pierre and Eleanor.
30 May Camping Michelangelo Florence
The rest day was refreshing. We began by pre-booking the Uffizi for Tuesday as part of a combined ticket. It has a wonderful collection of art by the greatest renaissance painters, but with marathon queues unless you spend an extra E4 and pre-book. The combined ticket can be used over three days and also lets us into the Palazzo Pitti - more great paintings - and the Villa Bardi. However we have to see the Uffizi first and it's closed tomorrow.
This required further thought, assisted by a coffee and a shared vanilla slice from a flash cafe on the Piazza del Signoria. It's one third the price if you stand up at the bar, so we did.
We made new plans to visit Palazzo Davanzati, go to the Bargello (lots of sculptures by Michelangelo and Donatello) then perhaps to the Acaddemia to look at Michelangelo's David and others of his sculptures including the emerging giants. We did get to Palazzo Davanzati which was really interesting – maintaining the layout, furniture painted finishes and general appearance of a 14th C fortified noble house. The rooms were beautiful, with intricately painted walls. We liked it a lot.
The rest of the plan was less successful. The Bargello was shut (it being the 5th Sunday of the month), and the queues to the Acaddemia were hopelessly long with pre-booking not available today.
The only sensible solution was to have lunch, which we did. Investigations showed we were near Santa Croce, where the queue turned out to be merely a bit long. The Church, chapels, tombs, cloisters, and historical information on the audio guide were comprehensively exhausting, but it was pretty remarkable to find the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli and Dante within a few metres of each other.
Time to go home, buying food on the way. No socialising tonight – quiet dinner for 2, then to bed to listen to the disco in the nightclub next to the campground. (It's awful!)
31 May Camping Michelangelo Florence
Our plans today were to see the Palazzo Vecchio, the San Lorenzo church and the Baptistery. We managed 2 out of 3.
We began with the Palazzo Vecchio, getting there by backstreets (though we thought we were on our way to San Lorenzo, when the PV bobbed up we thought, we're flexible). We expected it to be a short-ish easy visit. Wrong again. This was a complex which began as the municipal centre of the Florentine republic, but was extended as time went on both by the Medicis and at the instigation of Savonarola (who was ultimately burnt as a heretic in front of it).
It is grand, complex, intricate and beautifully decorated, combining vast public spaces reflecting the power and wealth of Medici Florence with opulent private apartments and terraces for the Medicis, intimidating reception areas for foreign delegations and chancery rooms where Machiavelli worked. We were there for hours, even without getting on board the guided tours of the secret passages which enabled the Medici to get from there to the Uffizi and across the Ponte Vecchio to the Pitti Palace on the other side of the river. It was all splendid – not a room without a fresco, not a ceiling undecorated. An English tourist observed to us later in the day that the Medicis had not only made Florence wealthy when they ruled but had ensured that it continued to be wealthy from tourists coming to see the treasures they had commissioned or gathered. It's hard to think of any local plutocrats who might leave a legacy of that kind.
We decided lunch was in order and went wandering, finding ourselves at the Bargello, which was open (the moon must have been in Aquarius) but we needed food. Found a nice restaurant and realised that it was about 3.30, with the Bargello shutting at 5. We finally just went to the Baptistery (after finding a sophisticated high tech public toilet which stung us a Euro each for the privilege. (For 2 Euros yesterday we got a coffee and vanilla slice at a very flash cafe with a free visit to the toilet. We will keep this in mind!).
The Baptistry, dating from the 12th C is the oldest existing religious building in Florence. The whole of its inside of its huge dome is made up of glittering gilt mosaics depicting stories from the bible. You can get a very sore neck looking up at it.
We got back to the campground with food for four people, to find Eleanor and Pierre back from their trip. We were dying to find out if they had been successful. Where had they been?
Pierre's father was captured in Africa in WW2 and was made a prisoner of war in Italy. When the Italians overthrew Mussolini in 1943, the POW camp guards simply opened the gates and let the prisoners go. But then the Nazis occupied Italy and re-instated Mussolini, so Pierre's father and two companions spent the last 2 years of the war hiding in the mountains behind Genoa.
They were protected and fed by local peasants and partisans until the Allies arrived. They had built a rough hut, which the Germans once found and burnt, but they had escaped by hiding among boulders in a hidden pool in the river, after being warned by a little girl who walked for several kilometres by herself to tell them. (The villagers had sent her alone because they thought she would not be suspected. They were right.)
Pierre's father had kept a long diary which talked about the terrible conditions and the kindness of their protectors. Pierre and Eleanor's daughter had found information, including the address of one of the families referred to in the diary, and had had a letter translated into Italian .
His father had come back to thank his protectors in 1961, but Pierre and Eleanor were hoping to make contact with someone who had been involved, and see the area where he had been hiding. They decided to leave their bike and tent here at the campground where we could keep an eye out, and hire a car to drive to Genoa and then up to the village.
So, we were all agog to hear their story. It went like this:
They took the wrong road after Genoa but people kindly helped them. They climbed and climbed through pristine mountain scenery, and along tiny, winding roads with barely enough room for two cars to squeeze past each other and a huge drop to the river below, looking for the village, but couldn't find it until someone else hand drew a map for them.
The first people they asked in the village didn't recognise the family's name. The next suggested they try asking in the village square. Their last ditch attempt produced gold. There was much reading of their letter, and then a person got into his car and indicated for them to accompany him. He took them down a muddy, rocky lane to the house identified in the diary.
The two brothers there read the letter. They weren't the family they were looking for – they had moved away - but they knew the story. One of the men said “come” and led them on a stiff climb for a kilometre or so into the forest. Suddenly, there before them in a dell was the remains of the stone hut his father and the others had re-built 67 years before. They were overwhelmed.
Back at the house, other people had arrived, including an 82 year old man and his nephew who had some English. As the story unfolded, the old man referred to a photograph and the nephew was dispatched to get it. He came back bearing a photograph of Pierre's father's wedding, with an inscription by Pierre's father to the old man they were talking to, thanking him for his help. This man, as a 17 year old, had been one of the Partisans.
Pierre and Eleanor made to leave, but they were taken for a tour of the farm, then shown the milking, then invited to dinner – baguette with pork lard, new-laid eggs from the 'libero' chickens, minestrone soup and a very good red wine made by a neighbour. They made to leave again, but this
time were invited to stay for the night, and sleep in the neatly made up bed of the parents, now deceased ten years. Finally, after a breakfast of bread dunked in milk coffee, they were allowed to leave. This was their story, which they were happy for us to share with you. We hope we've done it justice.
1 June Camping Michelangelo Firenze
Today we spent the whole day in the Uffizi gallery, pacing ourselves and spending what we needed on the “light refreshments” available in its cafeteria, which we expected to be a bit pricey. (In fact it was laughably, ridiculously pricey, but you're not allowed to take in any food or drink – though we did manage to smuggle a large block of chocolate through the security scanner.)
The Uffizi contains one of the two major Renaissance painting collections in Italy and therefore the world (the other one being in the Vatican), and is based around the personal collection of the Medicis, who were patrons or customers of, among others, Filippo Lippi, Botticelli, Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Titian, Tintoretto, Rembrandt, Raphael, Rubens etc etc.
We couldn't have spent a whole day like this when we first arrived in Florence. It seems to take time to develop the mental attention and power of concentration you need to spend a long time looking at great art. The first few days we were just overwhelmed and wiped out pretty quickly. Today we had a wonderful time and found the stamina came pretty easily. The two bowls of gelati and large mineral water for afternoon tea (a mere 24 Euros – about AUD$37 – don't even ask about lunch) did spark us up.
We loved a lot of things but found the Botticellis in particular pretty fantastic. As you go from room to room in historical order, you can see a revolution (or series of revolutions) in how people are depicted and paintings composed, including the arrangement of figures, use of colour and the way paint is put on the canvas. Being able to see that development made the experience of going through the gallery really powerful, even apart from the impact of specific pieces.
It is a bit of a commitment to go there. We pre-booked a couple of days ago for an entry time of 10.15 to 10.30. We arrived at 10.15 to find a massive queue for the pre-booked entrance. Thank goodness, we found we were in the tour groups queue. The queue for individual pre-booked entry was not massive, just really long. The system worked however, and it took only 15 minutes to get from the end of the queue into the gallery building, and join the queue to get into the galley (just another 10 minutes). The poor folk who had not pre-booked faced a waiting time of three hours. And they would not find much relief when they got in. This is where the system broke down a little. There are toilets in the Uffizi. Multiple toilets. Three cubicles for men and three cubicles for women. And you know who had a long, long, queue to join, don't you. If you guessed it wasn't Phil, you were right! So,after another 20 minutes (i.e 45min altogether) we were looking at an actual painting.
We were there from 11am to 6pm, and it was worth every minute, every inconvenience and every Euro we spent in the cafeteria. In defence of the cafeteria, we should say that it was on a terrace o0f the building formerly used by the Medici to listen to concerts, and it looked straight at the Palazzo Vecchio and its tower (see yesterday;s entry). No doubt the purpose of the prices was to make the customers feel like extravagant renaissance princes for 30 minutes or so.
After this epic of art appreciation, we made our way back to the tent for dinner and a sleep.
Wednesday 2 June Campground Michelangelo Florence
This was renaissance art appreciation day 2. There were some clouds about but we ignored them and headed off to the Bargello. This was a building dating from about the 11th Century and had been, in broad terms, the Court then the headquarters of the officers of justice, then, until the mid 19th C a prison. It was restored in the 19th C and brought back to something like its original appearance and configuration. It is a stern and imposing building set around a courtyard. As we got near to it, rain started and got heavier and heavier with rolls of thunder. The effect in the Bargello was quite atmospheric as we watched the rain fall into the courtyard and the run-off from the roof cascade down from the spouts 20 or so metres above us.
The Bargello is primarily a sculpture museum and contains some wonderful pieces, including a sculpture called Leda and the Swan that Gail has been crazy about since she first saw it 29 years ago.. We had always thought it was a Michelangelo, but in fact it's a sculpture of a painting he did which has been lost. It's an incredibly sensual piece in which Zeus has turned himself into a swan for the purpose of seducing Leda. It makes no bones about what is going on, yet it was made in the early 16th Century. Other highlights were a Michelangelo Madonna and child, and Donatello's famous David, cast in bronze.
Lunch was round the corner, and then because it was still pouring, we bought an umbrella for me and a very fetching (not) orange plastic poncho with hood for Gail, as her filmy silk top was less than effective against the elements.
Thus equipped, we went in search of Museo Bardi, another venue of the Caravaggio exhibition. The art there wasn't wonderful. The gardens looked fabulous, but weren't very enticing in the rain.
We decided to walk home. The route took us along a long, meandering walled road, with villas and gardens, including large olive groves, hiding behind the walls. The wealth was obvious, and with it comes some of the best views in the world. The sky cleared and the sun came out strongly on this walk, which -with a slight detour - took us to San Miniato, an 11th Century Romanesque church, which was wonderful, with soaring columns, frescoed walls and a beautiful floor.
Home, then off again, round Piazza Michelangelo, back down the steps because we'd decided to have dinner out in Florence. (We sit outside our tent to eat, and the rain had produced sticky, wet clay – not enticing!) At dinner we chatted to Robert, who was living here while researching refugee problems in Africa, and had just started doing some cycle touring. We had much in common to talk about.
We discussed catching a bus, but in the end it was quicker – and nicer even though there were all those steps - with Florence twinkling below– just to walk back home to round off a huge day.
Thursday 3 June
Today we completed our Caravaggio card by seeing some actual Caravaggios (!!) and working our way through the Palatine Gallery at the Palazzo Pitti. The Cs were pretty good, and we saw some lovely pieces in the Palatine Gallery, but the paintings aren't organised in any way, and are hung thickly all over the walls of each “salon',so we were glad we'd been to the Uffizi first.
This time it was possible to leave and go back, so we didn't have to use the cafeteria thank goodness. After a few hours we went in search of a neighbourhood trattoria recommended in the Lonely Planet. It was the real deal; full of locals as well as tourists – lively, friendly and energetic with lovely food at very reasonable prices. We were given CHAIRS (ahhh!) to sit on while we waited for a table. It was worth the wait.
Back to the Pitti until it shut at 5.15 – so we certainly got our money's worth!
We wandered back across the river to Cafe Gilli (their vanilla slices are pretty good!) and met some Australians from near Newcastle who've travelled a lot. They save hard at home and keep going away. Impressive.
After about one and a half hours of chatting to them at the bar (you can't afford to sit down at Gilli) we were desperate to be off our feet, It was after 8pm so we went had pizza for dinner. A note about pizza in Italy. It's respectable food here, and it's quite normal to order pizza for dinner. Baked with care, with a thin crispy base and a luscious top, it's delicious. We devoured ours gratefully.
Then because we'd been walking or standing ALL DAY we decided to be really wicked and track down a gelateria recommended in LP. Here we have to add a note about gelati (ice-cream) too. You have no idea how incredibly restrained we have been. This was only our second gelati in Florence, but gelati shops are everywhere – really everywhere! - and people are dreamily licking cones or industriously digging into little cups everywhere you look. We had piccolo (little) ones. Think of hazelnut and vanilla in a divinely crunchy little cone. We staggered home after this, not entirely sure we'd earned it, but completely unrepentant. We'd been out for twelve and a half hours.
Friday 4th June Camping Michelangelo – Firenze
We'd booked The Galleria for ten o'clock today to see Michelangelo's unfinished 'prisoners', and his gigantic David and it took a fast 45 min walk to get there. It's a clever piece of display, because the prisoners are in different stages of emerging from their blocks of marble – one is trying to stride out (“If I could only get my other leg free”) another 's head is still entirely encased and his arms are up as if he's trying to push it off. And you can see all the chisel marks. So, they're fascinating and strangely moving. Then there's David, and although there are two copies in Florence, the real thing is amazing up close. Particularly because he's not supported by much, and he's got enormous hands and feet and a thick neck, yet the overwhelming impression is of balance and grace.
We needed fortifying with a coffee and cake after this – sitting down! Phil ordered a beautiful little custard one with pieces of fresh glazed fruit on it. Yum!
Then to the Spedale degli Innocenti, which was an orphanage for abandoned children, most often girls. There was a revolving door where babies could be left. In fact, we realised, girls usually spent their whole lives there – they had no family, no dowry, and so no marriage prospects. They worked in the cloth workroom, or looked after the little children as they grew up. Boys were abandoned too, but not as many, and they could be apprenticed out, or we think, adopted out. (For poor families boys were useful – girls were just expensive to keep.) Unmarried mothers who came to the Ospedale had to work for a year as a wet-nurse - as compensation in return for their care. We didn't expect this rather moving history lesson; we came to look at its famous cloisters, which I'd read were among the most beautiful in Florence. They were completely lovely – a wonderful symmetry of line and balance and proportion, with small orange trees glowing green in terracotta pots in the centre.
We went to look at the fresh food market next. It was closing down, but we bought and ate a couple of lovely peaches. Then it was lunch time.
Lunch today required a 20 minute wait – standing outside Trattoria Mario – another recommendation from the LP. The third generation of the family is running it, and it's famous. The entire outside of it was covered in different reviews.. Customers sit on stools crowded around tables for 8. We finally got the next available space. The food was good and not expensive, though probably not quite as good value – and not as comfortable – as yesterday's.
San Lorenzo leather/jewellery/souvenir market was close by, so we had a look around. I'm still using the little snakeskin evening bag I bought on the Ponte Vecchio last time, and leather is so good in Florence, I decided over the last few days that I'd like a nice bag as a souvenir. The making wasn't all that fantastic but we got the prices of some.
Since the piccolo cones are really pretty modest, we decided we should try another LP gelateria recommendation. This time I had nocciola (hazelnut) and strawberry, Phil had nougat and nocciola (it was VERY good).
Now we had a benchmark we went off to the leather shops across the Ponte Vecchio. (This is the ancient covered bridge lined entirely by jewellery shops.) Eventually I found the bag of my dreams, Phil bought a wallet, and we bought a few prezzies.
It was 7.30pm and time to go home to soup with fennel. Today had been a mere ten hours. Up the steps and around the outside of Piazzale Michelangelo for our fabulous view of Florence. The clay around our tent was drying out nicely. We can't tell you how exquisite it was to sit DOWN.
5 June Camping Michelangelo
We started today by catching up with the diary, downloading photos (a mere 330 or so of Florence of which we eliminated 80) etc and then we realised that it was lunch-time and we were just a bit too weary to go sight-seeing. Instead we used the remainder of our 'rest' day to sort out the next move including a change of plan to incorporate seeing our friend Morag, who will be in Brescia next weekend. The plan is now to go to Bologna on Monday and Como via Milan on Tuesday, then ride from Como to Bergamo and Brescia, finishing up in Mantua. We will go from Mantua back to La Spezia and Cinque Terre and Lucca. It was really our feet which were resting – there was a fair bit of mental activity.
6 June camping Michelangelo
Last day in Florence today – went to the Bardi gardens (the grounds of Villa Bardi where we went the other day), and the Boboli gardens which are the grounds of the Pitti Palace, which we also visited the other day.
The Bardi gardens were lovely. They go from the level of the river up a steep hill to the Villa. Nicely planned, multi-tiered flower gardens, wisteria and rose covered walkways, a pond with fountain and statue, a picturesque mini-canal and a mixture of modern and renaissance sculptures peering through through foliage. Wonderful views of Florence spread out below. Gail was busy with the camera.
The Boboli gardens were a bit of a disappointment. They were more like a park with sweeping gravel walkways. We were hungry after all this walking, so found a nice little trattoria for a veggie lasagne and gnocchi with aubergine, which we shared. Then, after a bit more walking, we found ourselves right outside one of the very good icecream shops. So we indulged (well it was our last day!) in [piccolo] raspberry and baci cones. They were VERY good!
We said goodbye to the Duomo then visited the boar at the straw market and waited our turn to rub his shiny nose. This ensures that one day we'll return!
Then up the steps and around Piazza Michelangelo one last time. Back home Gail did a bit of washing, and then washed the fly of the tent (just with water) because those birds which sing so sweetly in the morning have been pooping all over it. I sorted the trains to Bologna, programmed Mr GPS, pumped up tyres and oiled chains. We have to ride the first 25kms to Prato – we just hope we can remember how to turn those pedals. We've had a wonderful time in Florence.
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