Taking It Easy (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Thirteen)

And so, we come to our last full day in Tuscany. We decided to make it an easy-going day, and slept in an extra hour before heading to breakfast. After a leisurely cappuccino, we spent some time at the apt reading up on any last minute places we wanted to head. Monkey wanted to visit a little town called Montechiello. We also decided to spend some time visiting a town we had passed each day in our Tuscan travels, San Quirico d’Orcia.

San Quirico was our first stop. Once into the town, our first stop was a small church with a little well outside of it. It was very rustic on the outside, and not very interesting on the inside. We spend about ten minutes inside. We then proceeded to the town gardens, which were described to us in a guidebook as “a fine example of a boxwood hedge” (I am paraphrasing, here). When we entered the garden, it was a ten by ten paved yard, with a couple of weak-looking shrubs. This wasn’t a “fine example” of anything. Undaunted, we walked up a little stone stairway and through an arch that led to some tree-lined paths. After some cool wooded strolling, we came upon some dilapidated fortress walls and, eventually, the actual boxwood hedges. And, yes, they did seem pretty fine to this boxwood hedge noob.

We strolled down to the piazza and visited a church known as the Collegiata. It was a white marble, with the unique feature of having three doors, two of which still contained the original sandstone columns and lintels from the original 1000 year–old church. Inside, the church is pretty bright (for a church in Italy, anyway). The interior was done in light colors and the décor was light colored, as well. Not much in the way of priceless art, but, while we were there, it seemed that a local artist was showing off his newly created rostrum and Stations of the Cross in sandstone.

After checking out a few shops in San Quirico, we headed down to Montechiello. There was not much doing here. It was a beautiful little town, and, much unlike yesterday’s “Tuscanyland,” there was not much in the way of tourists. We spent most of our time in Montechiello (which wasn’t much), just wandering the tiny twisting streets, and listening to the sounds of lunch being made coming through the windows above.

On the way back from Montechiello, we stopped in Pienza to pick up some wine for a light lunch of leftovers back at HQ. After lunch, we lazed about, until dinner (for which we had reservations) at Latte di Luna. Then, it was off to bed, since tomorrow would bring a drive to Chiusi and a train ride to Roma.

Tuscanyland! (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Twelve)

Our second day in Siena proved that one learns from experience, as our time spent maneuvering within the city limits and securing a parking space was much reduced from the previous day. Like mice in a maze, we clearly remembered where to go to get the cheese. The cheese in this case being, of course, a parking spot.

We visited some more museums, and were thrilled at the sights of Donatello’s tondo of Madonna and Child (not our contemporary Madonna and her adopted baby, but the Biblical Madonna and her baby, Jesus), as well as Duccio’s Maestra and Passion. The real treat was that we stumbled upon a museum guide/art historian giving a lecture on Duccio’s works. It was enlightening to say the least. I know a little bit about art history, but this was a tour de force of a lecture! And, it was in English—score! Really illuminating.

We also spent a little while in Il Crypta, the remnants of the eighth century church on which the Duomo is built. It was okay. Lots of frescoes and brick arches. Our next stop in Siena was Il Facciatone, the remnants of what was to be the façade of the actual cathedral.

Remember yesterday, I told you about the rivalry between Firenze and Siena? Well, in the 1300s Siena had planned to expand their cathedral, which was completed in the middle 1200s. The gargantuan expanded cathedral would have been many times larger than the relatively large structure that they have now (and waaaay bigger than Firenze's). However, after building the façade, the plague hit Siena, and work was halted, never to be resumed. So, now, they have a giant wall (with a good view), and some white marble pavers to show visitors where the columns would have gone in the Olympic-sized transept of the planned Uber-cathedral.

After some pretty tasty pizza, we headed over to the Oratorio di San Francesco, to visit one last Senesi museum. This one, also a diocesan museum, was loaded with church art, from the 12th century to the 19th. Not bad, though I can’t recall anything that I found particularly breath-taking, here. Then, it was back to the cheese (I mean parking space), to head over to Volterra, via San Gimignano.

We had planned on heading directly to Volterra, having heard that San Gimignano was kind of a tourist trap. At our pizza fiesta the night before, however, we were turned on to a supposedly world-class gelato shop in the town. So, intrigued, we went. As a side note, this area of Tuscany, the sort of northwestern area of Siena province, is well-known (apparently—I didn’t know it) for its alabaster. Thus, if you are looking for some quality artisanal alabaster, head on up to this area. As it turned out, the gelato at the recommended purveyor was four-star. We sampled peanut butter, rosemary-raspberry, pistachio, chocolate, and banana (I think that covers it). We had seconds, it was so good.

I dubbed San Gimignano, “Tuscanyland” (like Disneyland). It really did have a feeling of a this-is-what-Tuscany-is-like-so-we-hope-you-enjoy-it-would-you-like-to-buy-some-alabaster-or-a-T-shirt-that-looks-like-a-Renaissance-style-doublet? I sort of felt like I had strolled into a Renaissance festival, Italian-style. I would not have been surprised if someone in full Medici garb came wandering down the via with his entire retinue, including a juggling dwarf and a prancing minstrel with a lute.

The drive out to Volterra was a bit longer than we bargained for, but, it was a good side trip. We got to see the first Roman ruins of our adventure, a theatre. Unfortunately, as we arrived at about 5pm, the site was closed, but, fortunately, it is readily visible from the street, and the woman at the ticket booth did let us stand on the overlook inside the grounds (for free). We had a gander at a few other sites of Volterra (Etruscan walls, churches, you know), then headed back to Pienza where we hoped to dine at Latte di Luna again.

But, no such luck. As we approached the restaurant, there, on the sign outside, was a note: “Completo.” No room at the inn. We spun around in a circle a few times, not wanting to admit that we had only one other choice: the restaurant just up the street, Trattoria di Baccus (or some such). It was good enough fare, but Monkey was pretty disappointed. The moral of this story, when you go out to eat in a town with two restaurants, make reservations!

Heads, Thumbs, and Wood-fired Pizza (A Very Long Italian Sory, Part Eleven)

Our next long drive took us northwest, to the Renaissance rival of Firenze, Siena. The drive, on a sort of state highway-type road, was a bit frustrating (as are many a drive on state highway-type roads), since the road was two lanes, and many large trucks were also heading toward Siena. We spent a lot of time behind trucks. Now, the traffic laws in Italy are more suggestions, I think, than actual "laws." And the ones that apply to passing on the highways and byways seem even less than suggestions. The typical Italian driver (it seems) does not know what tailgating is, or, if he or she does, he or she does not recognize it as a hazardous driving activity. In addition, the typical Italian driver (it seems) does not trouble himself or herself with waiting for a straight section of road with good visibility before passing. Their cars, after all, are relatively small, so, perhaps the drivers assume that they need little space in which to execute the passing maneuver. In all fairness, even the most harrowing example of disregard for the personal safety of self and others was executed successfully, but, this sort of positive reinforcement of negative behaviors must catch up with the typical Italian driver on occasion. Yet, we saw no evidence of this. I was able to distill my traffic observations into the overarching principle of Italian driving: when in doubt, speed up. This also led to a corollary: never brake. If you can remember these two rules of Italian driving, then you are well on your way to a successful Tuscan road trip!

Once we arrived in Siena, we discovered that this was no little Tuscan town. We had so much trouble figuring out where we were (not a very good map of Siena) and then finding a parking space, that we may as well have been in an international metropolis, like Rome or Paris. But, after (I kid you not) about an hour and a half of driving around the winding streets of Siena, with the occasional unanticipated 180 degree turn (which is not a U-turn, it's an intersection that sends your car not on a new track 90 degrees opposed to your previous track, but, somehow manages to spin your car in such a way that you begin travelling in the opposite direction from which you were just travelling (It's not magic, by the way, it's just a screwy street layout.)) we found a parking spot, that another random old woman (not the same one from Montalcino) assured us was legal.

There are a lot of old people in Italy. Not that there aren't any young people, but, it seemed like there were more older folk than one typically sees on an American street. I wonder two things about this: one, is it actually true, or was I simply somehow more attune to the "ancient" in a country that has been in the throes of some form of civilization for 2000 years (and left ample evidence of it behind); and, two, why might that be?

The former wonderment needs no discussion. It may be true, it may not. I don't see how it could be demonstrated one way or the other, so , let it be. The latter, however, is an interesting thing to ponder, maybe. Are there more old people in Italy, or are they more active, or more public? Or, do young people just age amazingly quickly in Italy, and the preponderance of the aged was merely a preponderance of thirty year-olds with graying hair, poor posture, and a penchant for brown suits and patterned mid-length dresses? Now that I have begun this discourse, I find that this is an unsolvable mystery, as well, so, let us move on.

Siena. A lovely town, really. We will spend some part of tomorrow here, as well. Our first stop today was a church (go figure), San Domenico, which holds a few creepy relics of Saint Catherine of Siena (a local virgin who lured the pope to Rome (I am guessing not by using here feminine guile, but then, who knows...)). The town is big on Cathy, and her home is still standing and open for visits (however, nearly every square inch of it has been remodeled into a chapel (Here's the chapel where she received her stigmata! Here's the chapel where she cooked the polenta! Here's the chapel where she used the chamber pot!). San Domenico, which dates from the 13th century, is proud of its connection to Catherine. Here in this church, she made her vows of chastity (I think), and, while her body is interred in Rome (where we will catch up with her later), the Catholic church decided it would be only right for the church of Catherine's beginnings as a saint to have her head and her thumb, which are proudly on display in her chapel (along with the scourge that she used to use to purify herself each day--you think it's easy being a saint?). It's reassuring, I must imagine, to the devotees of Catherine to see her, eight hundred years after removing the "mortal coil," to be grinning at them and giving them a detached thumbs up (And we thought "Buddy Christ" was just irreverent comedy? Truth = stranger than Kevin Smith).

Moving on, there is also the Piazza del Campo, a massive and beautiful, semi-circular town plaza, with the Fonte Gaia as its shining white centerpiece, and the Duomo of Siena. Apparently the medieval and Renaissance competition between Siena and Firenze was fierce, and, more than once, the rivalry descended into a shooting war. That spirit of rivalry is clear in the edifices of the respective towns. The piazzas, the Duomos, within them one can see how each city tried to outdo the other. In the long run, posterity recognizes Firenze as the center of the Renaissance world in Italy, and, with the Uffizi, the Bargello, and the Accademia, Firenze has many of the greatest hits of the 1300s-1600s within their ancient walls, but Siena is a hell of a town. You take away Firenze's museums, and I think Siena is the better of the two. It's larger, it's somewhat prettier...I think I liked it a bit better than Firenze (just on a town-wise basis). Anyway, Siena was cool.

We had to get going after a while, because we were meeting some folks outside another little town about a half an hour north of Siena. Monkey's yoga teachers from Columbia were finishing a week-long retreat in Tuscany, and they had invited us to dinner, wood-fired pizza. So, we left our hard-won parking space, and headed still more north to Monterigionni, a tiny walled town. A few hundred yards north of there, we turned off onto a gravel road and proceeded to the farmhouse where the festivities were to be held. The matron of the farmhouse was not aware that we were coming, but, as she ushered us into the porch yard, she summed up the quintessential Italian attitude (if you ask me), "Whatever."

It was a great pleasure to see some acquaintances in our travels, and even more enjoyable that they were folks that we don't see very often. The pizza was fabulous (especially the rosemary and olive oil), the wine flowed, and, as the sun set low on the horizon, we sadly made our goodbyes, and headed safely to our distant home away from home.

This Way to the Best Meal Ever (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Ten)

I remember that the day I am about to write about is a Tuesday, so, if my calculations are correct, we still have over a week to go. As we are now relaying part ten, two things have already or are about to occur. The first, that this is the longest "Very Long" story I have told (there have been two others), and, after this installment, I can no longer count the number of the part in Italian (eleven is tricky, for me).

On this fine Tuesday, we headed north, first to a nearby former abbey, known as Sant'Anna in Camprena. Only a few kilometers from our vacation house, this abbey was a location for the film The English Patient. This explains why there are pictures of Ralph Fiennes eating in the restaurant where we had dinner in Pienza. The main attraction of the 14th century abbey, however, which is currently very nice-looking B&B, is a small room off the courtyard that contains five-hundred-year-old frescoes by Il Sodoma. The grounds are attractive, as well, and the proprietors of the inn are kind enough to allow visitors to wander the grounds during posted hours.

From Sant'Anna, we drove further north, visiting the very small town of Castelmuzio and then proceeding through the area known as Le Crete to another abbey at Monte Oliveto Maggiore. The skies were a bit gray as we arrived at the abbey, but the rain had held off. Unfortunately, the abbey was on siesta until 3pm, so we headed further north to the town of Asciano.

The drive from Castelmuzio north to Asciano was excellent, the hills revealing spectacular vistas. The only disappointment was the lack of sunshine, which would have made for some beautiful pics. Asciano, itself, however, was not so excellent. We wandered around for a while to kill time, and grabbed some pizza and foccacia for lunch, but the town was, compared to other central Tuscany towns, not very attractive.

Back at the abbey, we entered the grounds over a drawbridge (no longer drawable, it appeared, but still pretty cool), and then had a nice tree-shaded walk to the abbey proper. Within the walls, a small chapel captured our interest, along with a double column of large ants making their way down the trunk of a tree, over about twenty feet of ground, and up the front wall of the chapel, where they disappeared over the edge and onto the roof. Ant prayer services?

The abbey itself was fantastic, its courtyard decorated with more Il Sodoma frescoes of the life of Saint Benedict. While we were there, something like a fire alarm was going off, but, the sexton seemed to be telling everyone that it was just a false alarm, and nobody else seemed too concerned, so, we just made our way through the courtyard. Inside the church, we were treated to another set of monks that were doing their prayers in the manner of Gregorian chant. That was unexpected, and, perhaps due to a different scent of incense, or the ostentatiously baroque architecture of the church, I had nowhere near the same sort of experience here as I had at Sant'Antimo.

We headed back to the pad to get ready for dinner at Poggio Antico, where we had made reservations a few days before. As we sat down to eat, the skies opened up. We sat near a window, watching the rain come down, robbed of the evening view that, according to the maitre d' stretched, on clear days, to the sea. At the restaurant, we noticed that the whole evening, no one else entered the restaurant. We were the only diners. This night, Italy was playing someone for the chance to get to the quarterfinals of the European Cup. Our waiter claimed that that was keeping people home. After further experiences with soccer in Italy, I came to believe him.

At any rate, we enjoyed the attention of the entire restaurant, as we enjoyed what turned out to be, perhaps, the best meal we had ever had. We started off with an excellent Rosso di Montalcino (2006), and were treated to some excellent homemade breads. I greatly enjoyed my primi, a tagliatelle with vegetables, but the high point of the meal, for me, was a dish called peposo, a heavily peppered stew, really, served, in a more modern twist, over pureed potatoes and cream. It was spectacular. Monkey had some excellent dishes, too, a three meat ravioli in brasata and gnochetti with lamb.

The attentions of the wait staff were a nice treat, too, and the maitre d' was such a personable fellow. We spent a good portion of the evening joking and talking with him (mostly in English, of course). Monkey was especially excited, as we left that evening (after the rains, and two hours later), to meet the chef, who was sitting at the front of the restaurant, since, I guess, he only had the two of us to cook for, and we were done.

At the house, we turned on our tiny TV (the first time since we'd arrived in Italy) to see the outcome of the soccer match (il calcio, the Italians call it). Italy had won, and they were going to play in the quarterfinals. That would be Sunday night. We'd be in Rome by then. But first, we were off to Siena in the morning, and a rendezvous that evening with some old friends from CoMo, believe it or not.

In the Footsteps of John Paul II and Killer Hamsters (A Very Long Italian Story, Part Nine)

Our next Tuscan destination, Cortona, took us about as far west as we would go in Italy, and introduced us to many Etruscan wonders. But first, we met a couple of Jayhawks at breakfast. Imagine, travelling halfway around the world to meet people that live about a hundred miles away from you. Strange, really.

But enough of our domestic neighbors. On to Cortona, a town much larger than any we visited the day before, and, it seemed to us, much steeper and higher. We parked on the street at the foot of the Public Gardens, which was really just a shaded park with gravel on the ground and walked a short distance to the Piazza Garibaldi, trying to use one of our guides to walk us through the town. It was a relative success.

The view from Piazza Garibaldi was big, but nothing compared to later views we would get from a higher vantage point. Frances Mayes, the writer of Under the Tuscan Sun lives in the area of Cortona. If you're ever in Cortona, and you're interested, according to our guide, her villa is behind a hill to the left of the view from Piazza Garibaldi. For me, not the most fascinating tidbit of info. I liked the hill, regardless of whose villa is behind it.

The one thing you notice during the first half of your visit to Cortona: you are always walking up. Steeply. From the main piazza, we found some level ground within the walls of the Etruscan Museum. We spent a couple hours in here, looking at clay pots, jewelry, helmets, weapons, rocks, mosaics, and various interpretive videos whose effectiveness was diminished due to our own ignorance of Italian. In addition, this museum also had some works by Severini, a son of Cortona, who gained some fame in the early 20th century as an artist and critic. The coolest thing in the museum, however, was a heavily decorated oil lamp from the 4th century BCE.

Our next stop was Santa Margherita, which is at the penultimate point of the town. As we made our way higher and higher, climbing along switchback steps that seemed to wind through neighborhoods and nowheres, we came across a marker that stated that Pope John Paul II had made this trek in the 1990s. I was impressed. I'm pretty sure they didn't roll the Popemobile up there, and, unless he was ported up in a rickshaw or on a pillow-laden platform, then, he was one fit old pontifus maximus. Of course, in my mind, it is more than likely that he reached the church on the back of some poor, yet infinitely grateful local, huffing his way up the rocky stairway, bearing his heavy-robed burden, and imagining himself on the white-lighted stairway to Paradise, a beaming Saint Peter standing next to an overcome-by-pride Saint Margaret waiting to punch his ticket and welcome him aboard. But, that's just my speculation. The church is not the town's cathedral, but the residents spend most of their time and money on the beautification and decoration of this church, because Margherita is a home girl. It is a very beautiful church, and choc-a-block full of Margherita relics.

From here, we did some backtracking (mercifully downhill), had some pizza, and visited the cathedral (not very impressive next to Margherita's final resting place) and the Diocesan Museum (you know, these church folk got some damn nice art). The museum is mostly the structure of another church (Chiesa di Gesu), reconstructed and with additional pieces from the diocese. Highlights included an Annunciation by Fra Angelico, an elaborate baptismal font, some stations of the cross by Severini, and a wonderfully frescoed lower chapel.

In Cortona, we did the same thing as the day before in Montepulciano, buying some local stuff to eat with the remainder of our pasta and cheese. We brought home a bottle of Cortona Sangiovese, but, we didn't like that quite as much as the previous night's wine.

That night, as I sat on the veranda, a fox walked right past me. I thought that was a nice sight. However, a few moments later, I spied the tiny head of an unidentified animal poke out of the bushes around my chair and seem to look up at me. I looked down at him, and he seemed to be unfazed by my presence. I decided to take that as a hint that it was time for me to go inside and go to bed. This unidentified mammal was dubbed, "The Wild Hamster of Pienza." This later became, after time and the predictable hyperbole that accompanies an unidentified anything, "The Killer Hamster of Pienza." So, future travellers of the Pienza area: beware the killer hamster!