Rickmav – Italy Trip Report: Three Weeks in Venice, Florence, Tuscany & Umbria
 

Hello everyone. As some of you may know, we have been travelling for four months in England and Italy. This is our report on the three weeks we spent in Venice, Tuscany (including Florence and Chianti) & Umbria. Our other reports can be found at:

Overview & Yorkshire
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34937079

Suffolk:
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34941319

Sussex and Kent http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34943207

London:
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34946152

This was our first trip to Italy and we visited from mid-October, 2006 to the beginning of November. Those of you who've had the good fortune to visit Italy may find some of my observations fairly obvious, but I've included them because there may be others who will be in the same boat (or vaporetto, as the case may be) as us.

--------------------------------------------
Venice - Day I: Freaked Out at Marco Polo, Comforted by Truman Capote, Spying on Henry James.
--------------------------------------------

After a three day visit to London, my husband and I fly, on a Tuesday, from Gatwick to Venice on British Airways. Talk about planes, trains and automobiles (or, buses, anyway)! In the morning, we take a train to Gatwick from King's Cross station, then the monorail to the North Terminal, bus to the plane, fly to Marco Polo Airport, bus to P. Roma and then, by vaporetto, arrive at our hotel.

At Gatwick, we use BA's 'Fast Bag Drop' system, which allows you to 'virtually' board the flight 24 hours ahead. Once you get to the airport, you have to deposit your luggage, showing your passport, tickets and boarding pass to the BA staffer, at identified locations. The system sounds great, but isn't that efficient in practice, and a lot of people are very confused about what to do. We aren't afraid to ask questions, so manage okay. And try to help as many others as we can. Travelling by plane is definitely getting to be more and more of a pain.

When we board the plane at the gate, we have to show our passports again, plus our credit cards – that's never happened to us before – because we purchased our tickets on-line. We can take duty free liquor on board, but no water. The plane is half an hour late arriving, which means we are an hour late departing, and the flight is packed to the rafters. But they do serve drinks and a sandwich, and the seats are nicer than Air Canada's. It's about a two-hour flight from Gatwick to Marco Polo.

After we land, I suddenly find myself in the midst of a half hour long panic attack. I don't know why, but it's as if I'm under this enormous pressure to understand all the signs, speak the language and know exactly where we should be going at every moment. And I don't understand a thing! I keep thinking I know I've seen that word before, but what does it mean? (This has never happened to me before and we have travelled in Portugal, Spain and France.)

Luckily, my husband, who has not studied one word on the Italian Language DVDs, steps up to the plate. He approaches a young man standing at the curb and starts speaking English to him. It turns out the fellow works for ATVO and sells Rick two tickets for the bus to Piazzale Roma. When I ask my husband later how he knew this man was the right person, he said he just connected the company name on the man's name tag to the ATVO sign over our head (I had, at least, got us that far).

The young man, dressed in blue (just like the bus when it arrives), tells us exactly what to do and where to wait. Normally, we would have been able to buy a ticket from a machine located just off the sidewalk, but it is out of order. The tickets cost us three euros for a one-way trip. They have to be stamped after you buy them and, again, when you board the bus.

The man in blue tracks us down when the right bus arrives and shows us where to put our luggage. Our suitcases go underneath the bus, like the Greyhound at home. As you board, there is a little yellow box just inside bus door, which is where you stamp your ticket.

The traffic is horrendous and it seems to take us a long time to get from the airport to P. Roma – of course, we are impatient. Plus, the drive is not an attractive one. I'm still feeling a bit rattled about my 'breakdown' at the airport, and now I start feeling depressed. Is Venice going to be one of those places that cannot possibly live up to its reputation?

I worry too much. As soon as we pass by all the cheap hotels there are tantalizing glimpses of water and beautiful buildings - and then suddenly you are there.

But first, another mini-meltdown.

There are so many vehicles and people in P. Roma and so many stalls selling tourist junk, that we can't see the Canal – hence, have no idea where the vaporettos are. I frantically start asking some tourist types, 'Dove è l'acqua?', 'Where is the water?' They either ignore me or scurry away in the other direction. (I have no idea if this is even the right context in which to use this phrase – but I'm in meltdown mode). Rick, once again, comes to the rescue and asks an Italian-looking man standing nearby, who speaks perfect English, where the vaporettos are. He points us in the right direction.

(For the next day I so, I find my husband looking at me strangely; but he never brings up my 'breakdown', nor do I. Some things, after 30 years of marriage, are better left unsaid.)

We buy our three-day pass, which doesn't have to be time-stamped, from a booth near the water. They are 12 euros each and come with a simple map.

No matter how much I read about vaporettos, until I'm on one, I don't really understand what they are. As soon as I see it, I realize it looks just like a mobile home on water. We board the vaporetto through the little 'shack' that sits on the water, which moves about as other boats go by. On both the land and water side of every shack is the number of the vaporetto that stops there. A tip: Look for the number on the sign mounted on the deck of the vaporetto; don't be confused, like we were, by the number stencilled on the boat itself.

Everyone kind of crowds in, there's no orderly queues like in England, and only once in the three days we travelled on the vaporetto system did we have to leave people behind. We have no trouble getting our luggage on and off, and no one ever asks to see our pass. (Nor did the Grand Canal smell – at least not anywhere that we went.)

We are both in sensory overload mode as we make our way down the Grand Canal, from P. Roma to the Accademia Bridge, where our hotel is located. The colours, the reflections in the water, the chatter in a dozen different languages, it's almost too much. And yet, I find myself getting calmer and calmer. I don't know if it's the rhythm of the boat on the water or that we are finally here after so many years of dreaming of Venice, but I feel myself physically surrendering to its magic. But there's also a shiver of excitement. As Truman Capote said, "Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs." And we are slowly beginning to get that chocolate-like high. (Particularly, after we have our first taste of gelato.)

There is so much to look at and relish. And it's so easy to see everything from our window seat on the vaporetto. I'm surprised at how narrow the Grand Canal is, at least on this part of our journey, and our heads bob back and forth as we try and take it all in. It's actually quite intimate, which only adds to its promise.

We have taken vaporetto #82, which drops us almost, literally, at the door of our hotel, the Hotel Galleria (www.hotelgalleria.it). We get off the vaporetto (the stop is Accademia), take a sharp turn to the left, and in thirty steps, or so, we are there.

The hotel, part of a 17th c. palace, is in the Dorsoduro area and its entrance lies along Rio Foscarini. Our room is quite small and, when we first enter, the curtains are closed so it's hard to make out where everything is. One of the owners, Stefano Franceschini, goes in ahead of us and opens the curtains, unlatches the shutters and there it is – the Grand Canal framed by our very own window. To the left is the Accademia bridge; across from us are Palazzo Barbaro and the gardens of the Palazzo Franchetti Cavalli. (Henry James used to stay with the Curtis's at P. Barbaro and wrote a series of letters, from here, describing the writing process.) To our right the Canal eventually widens, leading to Piazza San Marco.

We are very pleased with the hotel. The service is impeccable, location unbeatable and price reasonable (120 euros, with breakfast). Our room is long and narrow and although the bed is in a strange position – facing away from the Canal – the room is very cozy. The bathroom is great, there is antique furniture and the views from the windows are, as the advertisement says, priceless.

There are a couple of small negatives. Since the hotel is quite close to the Accademia vaporetto stop, you hear some of the noises associated with that – but if you wanted absolute peace and quiet you'd probably stay somewhere other than the Grand Canal. Part of the charm of Venice is watching the life of the city go on before you. You also have to ring the bell at the front door when you want in.

We have a bit of a rest, Rick's ears still haven't popped from our descent and he seems to be getting a bit of a fever. And my ankles have decided to blow up, but we are impervious to bad health and decide to check out our neighbourhood. We walk south on Rio Foscarini and suddenly realize we are hungry. We haven't had anything since the meagre sandwich on the plane, but most of the restaurants haven't yet opened for dinner. My husband manages to sweet talk the very kind waiter at Pizzeria Alle Zattere, located where the Rio Foscarini meets the Zattere, to serve us a sandwich. We each have a glass of white wine and a delicious panini - mine is grilled vegetables with mozzarella, Rick's is ham and mozzarella. With a bottle of water, it costs 16 euros, including the tip. We sit at a table outside, overlooking the Giudecca Canal, and watch a huge cruise ship go out to sea. People on board are taking pictures of their last view of Venice, and people on the Zattere are taking pictures of them.

We linger for a while, appreciating the air, the views and the simple church beside us known as the Gesuati. Suddenly, we realize that we'll have to get some supplies – water and wine - and ask the waiter where the nearest supermercato is located. He points us in the direction of the Billa supermarket and we get there just as it is closing.

We stock up on supplies, making sure to buy water that is not 'frizzante', but naturale, and then slowly make our way home by a different route - although we have no idea if it will get us back to the hotel. We really don't care much whether it does or not. As gelato-virgins, we stop mid-way and have our first cup of chocolate (me) and cone of amaretto (Rick) and sit for awhile and people-watch. As we wander along the Rio di San Trovaso towards the Grand Canal, we pretend we are on our way back to our own apartment with our groceries. No one contradicts us.

We get into our pyjamas and climb into bed, propped up against one wall, with our legs stretched sideways on the bed. We drink our wine, with the window wide open and as we cuddle under the covers, toast our good fortune and the wonder that is Venice. Later on, when Rick has fallen asleep, a bit feverish and with little red ears, I write in my journal and finish the last of the wine.

I cannot bear to close the windows and so leave them open but, eventually, it gets too cool, and I, reluctantly, close the shutters. I climb back into bed, quickly warmed by a definitely fevered husband.

Next...Day 2 in Venice – Breakfast Brunhilde, Napoleon's Drawing Room and the Poop on Rick Steves.

Cant wait to hear the rest!

Rickmav,

This is the start of a great report! Can't wait to read the rest. It's always wonderful to hear a first timer's impressions and remember your own!

Ciao

You write very well! Waiting for more. And Happy V-Day! Dave

Thanks jamikins, Dayle and dcd for your support. It really does make the sitting down and writing up my notes worthwhile.

---------------------------------------
Day 2 in Venice – Breakfast Brunhilde, Napoleon's Drawing Room and the Poop on Rick Steves.
---------------------------------------

We both have a fitful sleep. Too much excitement for me, and unpopped ears for Rick. He's definitely getting the flu and we're not sure if it has anything to do with the fact that his ears won't pop. We open the curtains, window and shutters and immediately feel better when we see that our view of Venice is still there – it hasn't all been a beautiful dream, after all. And then we fall asleep again.

Breakfast arrives at 9:30 in the arms of a blonde Amazon. At the Hotel Galleria breakfast is served in your room and you have to let them know the night before what time you'd like them to bring it (it's served between 8-9:30 a.m.). The very polite and muscular young Brunhilde hands over a tray, jammed pack with goodies, to my unsuspecting – and non-muscular – arms. (My semi-muscular husband is in the shower.)

I am quite proud of the fact that I did not drop anything, but it was like was one of the Stooges' bits. I weave my way from one wall to the other until I finally bump into the tiny table and deposit my treasure. There is tea and coffee, piping hot croissants with an apricot preserve inside, yoghurt, cheese, orange juice, buns and marmalade. We eat about a third of everything and squirrel the rest away for snacks later in the day. We munch on our croissants by the window and wave at the tourists on the Accademia Bridge. A few even take our picture!

We linger over our coffee and tea for as long as we can but decide we must leave the window, eventually, to explore the Venice that lies beyond. While I shower, Rick goes for a walk to clear his stuffed-up head. I can always tell when my husband feels at home somewhere, he has the urge to explore it without me. And then he comes back with the most amazing reports and has to take me to see all that he has discovered. I'm not the least big jealous that he has fallen in love with Venice.

When he returns, full of smiles and secrets, we take the vaporetto to Piazza San Marco. I can't believe I was stressed about figuring out the waterbus system – it's very easy, convenient and you never have long to wait – at least during the day. And, actually, that's another wonderful thing about Venice. You don't mind waiting for anything, even standing in line to see the Basilica, because there are so many things to look at and people to watch.

We are both impressed with the Piazza, "the finest drawing room in Europe," according to Napoleon, even though we've seen pictures of it a million times. Everything is over-the-top. People, birds, statues, construction fences, buildings, Venetian masks, gondoliers and souvenir stands – all vying for your attention. What is behind all the fences? How do you decide what stand to buy a mask from – or is it better to look and buy somewhere else? Is a gondola a schmaltzy tourist trap? How can those people let the birds sit on their heads? How can we possibly grasp all the history associated with the buildings? We decide to sit on some stone steps and just contemplate it all.

We debate whether to go in to any of the buildings, but decide we'll do that later. The thought of going inside to view art seems superfluous. Right now, we want to be outside and in the thick of things. There are long line-ups to get into the Basilica and Campanile, but none for the Doge's Palace or Correr Museum (this is around 11:30 a.m. on a Wednesday). We linger on the small bridge (Ponte della Paglia) to study the Bridge of Sighs. Not as grand as I was expecting, but the Rio Palazzo Ducale underneath it is pretty and I, along with countless others, get a great shot of a gondolier going under the Bridge – quintessential Venice.

We browse all the beautiful paintings by the watercolour artists strung out along the Bacino di San Marco, near to the vaporetto stop. What I like is that there are different perspectives and views represented in the works, it's not like some places where you see artists lined up and everyone has a paint-by-number copy of the next. We spot a few that we could see hanging on a wall at home, but decide we'll put off buying until we have a chance to see more of the city.

Still full from breakfast, so grab a gelato each – I have hazelnut, Rick has strawberry and chocolate. They are both delicious.

Next, we board the #1 vaporetto to follow the tour of the Grand Canal in Rick Steves's Italy guidebook. As I mentioned in the overview to our four-month odyssey, I've torn out the parts of his book that are relevant to this visit and then just throw them away when I am done. Overall on the trip, we don't have much luck at the restaurants he recommends, I'm not sure why, it could just be bad luck. But his little maps and descriptions of things to see, including his self-guided tours, are helpful.

Some thoughts on what we saw on the tour:
- the Grand Canal is a pastel green/dark blue kind of colour, smells like the sea in areas, isn't full of garbage and, so far, we haven't seen a rat. We do wonder why there aren't any flies in Venice – or did we miss them, too?
- it's strange and very cool to see all the services we would normally expect to be on the road, in their own boats. Like: the Fed-Ex boat, firefighters, police, construction guys, furniture movers, garbage boats – kind of amazing;
- Venice is one of the few places in the world where you can't build anything new, everything has to be created from what's there – so, no new island is going in with a condo development! I feel an urge to go inside all the empty buildings and see what's there, what ghosts are wandering about.
- there are three movies that keep running through my mind while we are touring: The Italian Job (the most recent one); Don't Look Now with Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie; and, for some strange reason, Blame It On the Bellboy with Dudley Moore and Bronson Pinchot.
- the Turkish Exchange building looks interesting and is the oldest house in Venice. In the 1500s, the Turkish traders would dock, unload, trade, eat, sleep and then go on their way in the morning, all in this one place;
- would be fun to be all dished up and hit the Venice Casino, but we're not the gowns and tails kind of couple. Maybe, in my next life.

Back to the hotel for a rest. Rick is definitely flu-stricken and lays down only when I threaten bodily harm. He sleeps for a few hours and is a bit better when we go out for dinner.

We have lists and lists of recommended places to eat, but decide we are going to wander and just pick something that catches our fancy. We land on the doorstep of the Taverna San Trovaso because when someone opens the door as we pass by, the smells inside almost make us pass out. It is very busy and we are worried that we won't be able to get in, but the waiter takes us upstairs and there is another entire restaurant. Ten minutes after we sit down the place is packed and stays that way until we leave.

A nice assortment of people – Italians with families, tourists, elderly couples. The food is great, the service even better – don't you love waiters with a sense of humour? – and I get to practice my Italian (that's where the sense of humour comes in). Rick has the menu turistico and he gets a primi (rigatoni bolognese), secondi (veal cutlet with fries) and a dessert (gelato). I order a primi (rigatoni all'amatriciana) and contorni (salad misti) and we share the lot. Near the end of the meal we discover we are sitting next to two women from South Carolina (just love that accent), and a couple from New York on their honeymoon. We don't leave the restaurant until after 10 p.m. Definitely, a two thumbs up experience.

We wander home - full, content and very happy.

Next...Day 3 – Attempted Murder at the Basilica, On The Floor to See Tiepolo and the Cicchetti Experience

I'm enjoying your report. Brings back fond memories of this most unique of cities. We enjoyed boat watching from our hotel window, too. My favorites were the Beck's and Heineken beer boats!

Great report! We'll be in Venice in under a month, so thanks for writing :)

Wow! What a great report! I am loving this!

Sally

Loving this report; you are really capturing Venice well. I now have to go rent Blame it on the Bellboy to see what you are talking about!

rickmav - I love coming home from work and finding a bit more of your marvelous adventure.

More please!

Sandy

enjoying this--more please

Oh--by the way--you DO need to stamp you 72-hour vaporetto pass since it is good for exactly 72 hours from the time you stamp it.

Yes, you do need to stamp your pass.
Mind you, I have been to Venice several times and have only once had my ticket inspected.
Next time, if I were you, I'd get the Alilaguna boat rather than the bus.
Venice should really be approached from the water.
You might be interested in my Venice pictures at http://sylvia.photoblog.me.uk/c421786.html
http://sylvia.photoblog.me.uk/c554610.html

As an armchair tour of Venice this is good stuff; as a portrait of a great marriage, it has enormous charm.

great reading as I recover from surgery and dream of travelling next fall!

My husband and I are going to Venice in June. I love reading about it. I decided to stay in the Mestre area. It makes me nervous to have to carry my luggage so far. So concentrated on that you make an easy pick pocket. Plus I figure we'll take one easy bus ride to the hotel, drop it all off, get the 3-day pass and be on our way. It's cheaper too, and I'm thinking they hotels are nicer, or more Continental maybe, and there will be more English speaking people to help. We plan on going to a winery on the mainland, so it will be easier and cheaper traveling as well. Maybe we'll rent a car for a day. We will catch a 7-day cruise stopping at Crotia, Greek Isles, and Turkey. When we return, we'll stay an extra night and attend the Heineken Jammin' Festival to see Aerosmith and Smashing Pumkins. I wouldn't go see them in Philly, but something seems better seeing them on vacation. It's at the largest European Park (I'm guessing it will be like a Central Park concert). We'll pay the extra money and stay at the hotel that sits on the park. It will be easy to get back to the airport too.

I wonder if anyone ever brought a laptop and actually used it?

Thanks for the info!
Brenda

great post... thanks for sharing!

Hello everyone. The sun has come out finally and so have been busy attending to all the things we couldn't get to in the snow. Will post Day 3 in Venice this evening. Thanks for your support.

Oh rickmav, I am enthralled with this trip report. I am sorry your husband had a "bug", it does happen sometimes when travelling. Your description of your feelings from the time you arrived at the Marco Polo Airport is precious, I wish I could convey how I feel as you do, that is quite a talent. I am so looking forward to your next installment.

Hello BrendaJean. May I suggest you start your own thread regarding your trip and your questions. Best regards.

rickmav, I'm really enjoying your report. I'll be back in Venice (as well as Bologna & Rome) in July and can't wait. As others have said, you DO have to stamp the 72-hour pass. You were lucky not to have been checked. I'm also wondering how you got it for 12 Euro, when the price is 25? :-d
Looking forward to more!

I finally have Day 3 completed. Thanks to all of you (RufusTFirefly, SRS, SandyBrit, Itilley, LoveItaly) for the nice things you have said about our report - and our marriage (LJ - my husband was quite 'chuffed' at your lovely words).

Ellenem - About the 3-day vaporetto pass: when we bought the pass we asked the fellow where we could stamp it and he said he had stamped it for us. Perhaps, we misunderstood. Lucky thing, no one caught us out - or I might have been writing a very different report about Venice!

ssvw27 - get well and glad I can provide a little 'light' relief.

MissPrism - your pictures are wonderful. Since we were away for four months, we were trying to economize where we could and the Alilaguna service served an extravagance. But 'next time' we have promised ourselves we will splurge on a few more things.

BrendaJean316 - Sounds like you have the ingredients to a great trip. We didn't see any of the Mestre hotels, so don't know if they would be a good alternative. But we loved being in the heart of Venice. And, I've never taken a laptop with me to Europe, mine's too heavy. But I certainly saw lots of people carting one around.

Annabelle2 - you'll have to tell me what you think of Blame It On the Bellboy. Silly fun.

Tim_and_Liz - hope you have a great time.

SusanP - Glad you are enjoying our trip report. Hope to see your's when you get back from Venice, Bologna & Rome in July. About the price of the pass, I wrote in my notes that it was 12 euros each but when I checked the ACTV website just now, they are 30 euros! I guess I was still in semi-meltdown mode.

------------------------------------
Day 3 – Attempted Murder at the Basilica, On The Floor to See Tiepolo and the Cicchetti Experience
-------------------------------------

The next day, after breakfast, we head back to P. San Marco. The evening before we'd heard the sirens signalling rising water, so aren't sure what to expect. There are large puddles about, but the tables have been set up so you can walk into the Basilica without getting your feet wet. I'd been wondering what the stacks of tables were for, it looked like they were getting ready for a big block party (the tables look just like the ones you see at a community centre). Now, I see them unpacked and in action.

The line-up at 9:30 a.m. isn't too long so we tuck in at the end and wait. It moves fairly quickly and while we are waiting we listen to the myriad of tour guides explaining what we are about to see. It feels like we are cheating, since we haven't paid for the information, but what the heck. Information is precious no matter how you get it. I have to admit I do wonder if the German and French tour leaders mention how much of the Basilica's treasures were stolen by Hitler and Napoleon. But then Venice stole much of the stuff from Constantinople in the first place.

As I look around the Piazza and at the front of the Basilica, I think of Mark Twain's quote, which I'd written in my itinerary notes. He said the Basilica looked, from the outside, like, "A vast and warty bug taking a meditative walk." Hmmmm. Can't say I see that.

Inside, we start with the Loggia and Museo, which cost an extra 3 euros each. It's fun to see the Piazza from that perspective although in my exuberance I almost push a Japanese tourist over the balustrade. Rick and the man's friends both scramble to get him upright and I try to remember some of the Japanese I studied one summer at the University of British Columbia. But all I can remember is 'kudamono doko desu ka' – where is the fruit? and 'kamikaze' – neither of which seems to fit the circumstances. So, I just smile a lot and that seems to work.

I try to get some artsy shots of the quadriga, the four-horse team in the middle of the Loggia, but every picture ends up with the Japanese tourists in it. I don't know if they are stalking me or just keeping an eye on what I'm doing. We spend some time in the Museum. Neither one of us are much for rich and decorative Venetian art, although I'm fascinated by the altarpiece by Paolo Veneziano. Lots of Persian rugs, tapestries and mosaics to see as well.

Then we descend back into the Basilica. The mosaics inside, mostly gold and silver, make the whole place shimmer. I didn't realize that St. Mark's was originally the private chapel of the Doge; it didn't become a Basilica until the early 1800s. It was built in the 11th c. – which blows my mind – and its design is heavily influenced by the Middle East/Byzantium.

Eavesdropping on an American tour guide, I learn that both John Singer Sargent and my friend Walter Sickert (aka Jack the Ripper) both painted the Basilica. When we get home, I check them out on the Internet. Sargent's is unlike his other stuff, which I've seen in many of the English stately homes - he painted society types in the late 18th c. - Sickert's looks a bit wobbly and weird.

Once we finish exploring the Basilica inside, we sit for a while in the Piazza discussing what we've seen. It's there we make a 'radical' decision. Since this is our last day in Venice, we aren't going to go to the Doge's Palace or the Correr Museum, or the Peggy Guggenheim or the Accademia. It's pretty clear to both of us that although we'd planned this trip as our first and only visit to Italy, that is now impossible. We must return. And when we do, we will see all the museum stuff, the things one must do, but this trip we just want to explore and soak up as much as we can. We don't want to be inside.

The exception is Ca' Rezzonico, which may seem a strange choice. But when Rick and I got married, in the days when you could still write your own vows, we incorporated Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem 'Sonnets to the Portuguese'. Her husband, Robert Browning, died at Ca' Rezzonico, and for some peculiar reason we feel we owe his ghost a visit.

We stop at the American Express office to book our Eurostar tickets to Florence. An American woman and her son, in his early 20s, are behind us in line and are arguing. Mom has brought her son to Venice and he, apparently, is trying to change his ticket so he can leave early for Rome - on his own. After incessant questioning as to why he wants to leave, he tells her that he is bored with Venice. She says, "You've only been here three days, how can you bored?" And he answers, "I've seen the water, what else is there?" Since I cannot believe he really feels that way, I suspect he is bored with 'Travels With Mother'.

We make our way to the Rialto area. I think I could spend a lifetime just getting lost in Venice. We want to check out the Telecom Italia Future Centre where, I've read somewhere, you can use their computers free for 30 minutes. We finally find the place; it's tucked in a labyrinth of buildings and is somewhat spooky. This amazingly modern computer lab - no wires, plasma screens and glass everywhere - completely empty except for the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She reluctantly takes our passports, gives us a card for the machine, then goes back to reading her book. It takes us 27 minutes to figure out how to get into the Internet and to our e-mail server, so the trip is not a success. I'm sure we could have asked for another 30 minute card, but neither one of us want to disturb her literary pose.

As we make our way back to the Dorsoduro area, we come upon a little crowd of people and when we get closer see that a bride is getting ready to enter a church. She is absolutely stunning, with the most amazing peachy-cream dress, black-brown hair piled on top of her head and dangling, silver earrings. She is oblivious to the passers-by, in that way that brides are, and I take a few photographs of her. It takes every reserve of good manners that I have not to follow her into the church. (These photos are among the favourite of our trip.)

Back in Dorsoduro, we have lunch at one of the places Rick discovered in his solitary travels. Bar da Gino is a wonderful little caffe on Piscina Venier, on the way to the Peggy Guggenheim. There are mostly locals inside, including a gaggle of school kids on their lunch break. First, you pick out your sandwich – in our case by pointing at someone else's - and then you go to pay. You can get a take-away and sit by the Rio di San Vio canal or grab a table on the street. Or sit inside with the locals. We sit by the canal and eat our Rustico panini – tomatoes, mozzarella and prosciutto with a bottle of water. Is very good. Followed, of course, by gelato at Gelateria Nico on the Zattere. I have chocolate and straticella (kind of like oreo cookie blizzard) and Rick has tiramasu and straticella. Very, very good.

Then we just wander, heading in the general direction of Ca' Rezzonico. Eventually, we get to Campo San Barnaba and on the other side of it, along Rio de San Barnaba and towards the Grand Canal, is the entrance to Ca' Rezzonico. The admission ticket is 6.50 euros each.

Henry James described the palace as "thrusting itself upon the water with a peculiar florid assurance, a certain upward toss of its cornice which gives it the air of a rearing sea-horse." I'm not sure I get all that, but it is interesting to go inside one of the huge houses we see from the vaporetto as we travel along the Grand Canal. Ca' Rezzonico shows how the rich lived in the 18th c. There are frescoed ceilings, painted by Giambattista Tiepolo, as well as 18th c. furniture, ceramics, tapestries and some paintings by Canaletto.

For most of our travels over the three floors, we are the only ones in the rooms. Occasionally we run in to a lonely room steward, or sometimes a group of them whispering in a corner. But there are very few tourists. On the top floor is an art gallery, with a variety of periods represented. I'm not much for religious art, but I do like the paintings by a woman named Emma Chiadi (I think I have that right). She painted in the Impressionist style and I'll have to find out more about her.

I have to fight the urge to lie down on the marble floor to better admire Tiepolo's ceilings. Rick volunteers to act as lookout, but in the end, I'm not sure how quickly I'd be able to get up off the marble if I had to, and I don't want to cause an international incident. I can see the headlines, "Crazy Canadian Passes Out On Priceless Marble Floor!"

In one room, there is a bedroom that's decorated as it would have been in the 1700s. There's a woman's dressing case there and it is fascinating to imagine what the assortment of exotic tools were used for. In a quiet corner, overlooking the Canal, my husband and I recite as much of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem as we can remember –'When our two souls stand up erect and strong...' – and we feel a whisper of benediction from Browning's ghost as he passes by.

We make our way slowly back to our hotel and have a glass of wine at Pizzeria Foscarini, overlooking the Grand Canal. There are tables and umbrellas set up outside and it's a great place to watch the comings and goings on the Canal, the Accademia Bridge and Rio Foscarini. We had planned on taking the sunset cruise on vaporetto #1, but some clouds have drifted in and covered the sun, so we decide to go up to our rooms for a rest. I think Rick's flu is a bit better, he is such a trooper.

Later on, we decide to tackle the whole cicchetti thing. We start with the intention of following Rick Steves's Venetian Pub Crawl, but stuff our faces so much at the first bottegon, that we don't get any further. Next time, we'll have to pace ourselves because it's a lot of fun trying out all the little munchies, even though we have no idea what some of them are.

Our first – and only stop – is the Cantina del Vino Gia Schiavi (#992) on the San Trovaso canal in Dorsoduro – another of Rick's finds. What a great place for our first experience with cicchetti. As we enter, we are checked over by a group of elderly Italian men, gathered around the wine bar. The entire room is lined with bottles of wine and I'm not sure which intimidates us most – the men or the choices. But we take a deep breath and mosey in, trying to look very worldly while we check out the variety of cicchetti displayed under glass.

When we think we know what we want we catch the eye of the fellow behind the counter, who has politely been watching us, and he picks up a plate and simply fills it with the things we point at. We say 'uno' or 'due', depending if we want one or two, order a glass of white house wine (ombra bianco) each and head outside, as others are, to eat along the canal. The cicchetti are delicious - mozzarella and tomato, capicolli and a delicious cheese that tastes like a creamy cheddar, artichoke hearts, anchovies with onions and capers, creamed salt cod – all served on small pieces of French bread. The cicchetti are are 1 euro each, the wine is 1.8 euros each.

After we fill ourselves to the brim, we wander back towards the Zattere, passing the gondola boatyard on the way. It's closed but it would be fun to see it on a working day. We will make a note to see it 'the next time' (this has become our mantra, and it will be repeated endlessly as we make our way through Tuscany and Umbria.)

The Zattere is cosily busy, lots of couples, arm in arm, a few nuns giggling over their gelato, families sitting outside having pizza. We go back to the Gelateria Di Nico for our last gelato in Venice – pistacchio for Rick and hazelnut for me. The staff are so polite and helpful. We sit by the water, watch the cruise ships, and think that maybe the time after next, we'll see Venice from the deck of a cruise ship.

As we eat our gelato, we watch an Italian boy, who is about six, and his four year old sister, (I assume they are Italian from the few words of the language that I recognize), playing as their mother reads. All of a sudden, the little boy pushes his sister, who had been bugging him, and the mother quietly berates him then leads him to the wall of a nearby stone building and makes him stand there with his face against it. A Time Out in Italy! The boy is not happy but he does not argue. By this time, the little girl is in tears. She stands for a moment looking at the mother who has resumed her seat on a bench with a magazine, and her brother, with his nose against the cold stone. In tears, she walks to her brother and puts her nose against the stone wall as well. They stand there, looking so forlorn, then slowly the brother's arm comes up and he puts it across his sister's shoulders. I almost started bawling. When I look across to the mother, she has a small smile on her lips. I was going to take a picture of the two of them, and call it Comrades in Arms, but decided I might only cause further trouble.

We go back to our hotel by a different route that takes us by the Pensione La Calcina. I've read about it so often on Fodor's, I'm curious to see what it looks like. With lamplight spilling out onto the pavement and the restaurant, La Piscina, moored in front gently moving with the passing waves, it is very welcoming. Although we love the location of our hotel, perhaps 'next time' we will try to get a room here and be able to appreciate the same views Katherine Hepburn did in the movie 'Summertime'.

It's a beautiful evening, with a little breeze, and there is music coming from somewhere. I take my husband's hand and I thank whoever is responsible for these things that I have been able to share this place with him. What a gift for our 30th wedding anniversary.

Tomorrow we leave for Florence, and then a week in Chianti.

Next...Rumble on the Eurostar, Re-Evaluating Florence and What Does The Wrench Symbol Mean on the Control Panel of Our Rental Car?

LOL rickmav, I am soooo glad your husband and another gentleman were able to save that poor Japanese fellow from falling to his death or we would not be reading your trip report but instead a news article about you. I am sorry about I can't stop laughing, sounds like something I would do ;;)
If it makes you fell any better a dear friend in Italy almost got me killed, in her excitment to show me something as we were getting ready to cross a very busy street. She grabbed my arm. I ended up on the street as those Italian drivers went zooming by. I wish I had a photo of the look of horror on both her and her husbands face. They were more shook up than I was.

Such a beautiful 30th anniversary trip rickmav. Thank you for sharing it with us.

rickmav - What a gift for our 30th wedding anniversary - I'd say so, congratulations.

I was almost in tears reading your tale about the scrap between the little 6 year old boy and his sister. How beautiful.

Sandy

Boy am I enjoying this report. Not sure if it's because you write so well, because I'm learning stuff while being entertained, or both. But it's sure working for me!! I know these reports don't write themselves and take a lot of time. Thanks for making the effort.

Just what I was looking for today. I leave for Venice on the 28th, staying at La Calcina. Your mouthwatering descriptions have been noted so I can stuff myself as I wander the canals. Thanks so much for the visual.

In Venice early May....can't wait!
Thanks for the great report!
Rosie((R))

I am so looking forward to the next segment. You really brought Venice to life - you are such a lovely writer!

Sally

I am so enjoying this report--laughing and crying at your descriptions as you view slices of life in each area. Also love your descriptions of all the famous and not so famous sights.

Keep it coming! Thanks in advance!

I felt that I was standing beside you. What a great storyteller you are. Looking forward to the next installment.

LoveItaly, SandyBrit, dcd, SRS, teacher33 and toni - Glad you are continuing to enjoy my ramblings. It's so nice to read everyone's kind words.

Bumblebug, RosieinOz - Have a wonderful time in Venice and make sure you treat us all to your report when you return.

-------------------------------------
Part IV - Rumble on the Eurostar, Re-Evaluating Florence and What Does The Wrench Symbol Mean on the Control Panel of Our Rental Car?
--------------------------------------
The next morning we take the Eurostar to Florence. The first class tickets cost us about 115 euros. We've never gone first-class on a train before, so are tickled to discover the comfortable, leather recliners and wood accents in our roomy compartment.

It's a madhouse at the Santa Lucia train station and I'm a bit worried that I'm going to get 'wobbly' again. But everything turns out fine. Before we left Canada, I'd read on slowtrav (http://www.slowtrav.com/italy/trains/station.htm)
how to decipher your train ticket and what to look for on the large board in the station. We find 'Departi', look for the time printed on our ticket, see that there is a train going to Roma via Firenze, then wait until they post a track (binario) number. On the train ticket is the car (carrozza) and seat (posti) numbers and whether they are window (finestrino) or on the corridor (corridorio). Although Rick and I are supposed to sit beside each other, a very nice Italian businessman waves me into the other window seat.

While travelling, we are witnesses to a cunning con and are glad we are only spectators - although at one point, I am almost sucked into it. For the first part of the trip, there are just the three of us in the four-person compartment – Rick, the businessman and me. A fourth woman, very stylish, sits for a while but the rest of her group are in tourist class and she eventually joins them. When she leaves, the businessman goes to find a friend of his and the friend takes the woman's seat.

After the first stop (I'd assumed the Eurostar went direct to Florence, but in fact it stops at a number of towns), a woman in her 40s comes to the door of our compartment and after gesturing to the two men and waving her ticket about, succeeds in getting the visiting businessman to give up his seat. It's very odd, because we original three know that the seat really belongs to the stylish woman. However, the visiting businessman is very polite and, without any further discussion, leaves.

For a moment, I am afraid that we have made a mistake with our seats, although the conductor has checked them shortly after we left Florence. And so I offer the woman my ticket so she can check that we are in the right place. She quickly snatches it away and puts it in her purse. Rick and I both look at each other. I begin to get a bit panicked and try and explain, in my crummy Italian, that she has taken my ticket but she just keeps talking louder and louder, in Italian, never really looking at me. Now Rick is starting to look nervous. Suddenly, the businessman leans over and, quietly, says something to her in Italian. She quickly returns my ticket. Rick and I sit back in our seats, tickets safely tucked away, and watch the rest of the drama unfold.

Along comes the train conductor. He examines the woman's ticket and, I think, explains to her that she cannot sit there. She speaks very loudly, checking in her purse and pockets, shaking her head, waving her hands about, until finally the conductor leaves – and she settles down in her seat. This happens three more times during the trip, with the conductor becoming more and more agitated. He does not try to remove her, physically, from her seat, but continues to point to her, her ticket and somewhere down the corridor. She doesn't budge. About 10 minutes before we get in to Florence, he stands at the open door and does not move until she gets up, which she does with a lot of gesturing and sighing. Canny woman, she has managed to travel first class for most of the trip.

Although her performance is entertaining, we do learn a lesson from it. To never, as I did, surrender your ticket. And if the conductor doesn't make you leave your seat, don't let anyone else put you out.

We are a bit paranoid when we arrive at the Florence train station (Santa Maria Novella). We've read so many reports about purse snatching and pickpockets - and have just seen a master con artist at work on the Eurostar. But everything is fine. We take turns protecting the luggage while we use the washroom at McDonald's – it seems weird to see the familiar logo in such a foreign place – and then march quickly to the cabstand (obeying other advice not to be tempted by free-lance taxi drivers). It costs us 7 euros to travel to our hotel, the Relais Cavalcanti (www.relaiscavalcanti.com) on via Pellicceria. (We have been advised by our landlady to ask the taxi driver how much the fare will be. She has told us what it should cost. She is spot on.)

I cannot say enough good things about this hotel. Francesca and Anna are sisters who have inherited a floor of this wonderful building and have turned it into a small hotel. It feels as if you have your own apartment in Florence. The room, without breakfast, costs 95 euros a night, although if you pay cash, as we did, you can get it for 10% less. Because the hotel is right in the thick of things, it doesn't matter to us whether breakfast is provided. There is a separate room where you can make coffee and eat meals if you want to bring something in, and I'm surprised at how well used it is by the other guests.

Our room is a perfect size, with a great bathroom. It's extremely clean with windows that open (hoorah!) and overlooks the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, the Orsanmichele Church and what Francesca calls the Mercato del Porcellino. This is the home of the bronze boar, which people feed coins to and rub his snout for good luck. The room is prettily decorated with a comfortable bed and a few antiques. Although the hotel is located on the fourth floor, there is an elevator from the first floor. The only negative comment we hear from another couple, although it isn't a problem for us, is that you have to carry around a set of keys – there are four doors to open.

The location of the hotel is perfect and as we are only in the city overnight, we are able to wander – our favourite word – and see a little bit of everything.

Going to Florence is the only thing that my husband and I disagree about while planning our trip to Italy. He has talked to enough disgruntled people that he is convinced that we should give it a miss. I really want to see it. So, we compromise on one day, with the option to return at the end of our trip (we have built two 'flex' days into our itinerary).

We find Florence to be a very different experience than Venice - edgier, louder, certainly busier, even in October. But it is also more alive and invigorating.

After we deposit our bags (we are too early to check in, but leave our suitcases in a little sitting room off the entrance), we head out to see the Duomo and Baptistry. Francesca gives us a map of Florence and has highlighted things to see, as well as recommended restaurants and shops. Although we get turned around a few times, we never get lost, and the map is an excellent guide.

As we walk along the the Via de' Calzaiuoli – or what Francesca calls, Via Calz – we are astounded by the variety of shops and the perfection of everything within. All the big names are here: Gucci, Fendi, Versace, etc. My youngest sister, Vanessa, would be in heaven if I could suddenly transport her here.

We turn a corner and come upon the Duomo – it's a cliche, but our jaws drop. The vertical and horizontal bands of white, green and red marble are unlike anything we've ever seen and I'm sure we look exactly like centuries of other tourists who stop in their tracks and stare. The colours are intensified as it begins to rain; it's as if the dust is washed away, and the wet marble gleams. Before we go inside, we stand under our umbrella and try to take in what we are seeing, but it is like the first time you see anything truly amazing, you almost want to reach out and touch it, to see if it is an illusion. And then you try and understand it with your head, but that it is imposssible, it is something you must absorb with your heart.

Inside, it is quite dark, so the lit areas are like punctuation marks in the huge space and we are naturally drawn to them. We bump into the edge of another tour group and hear the guide tell her flock that the Duomo was actually built with a hole where the dome should be. Although no one, at the time, knew how to build one, they had confidence that someone would come along and figure it out. That someone was a local boy, Filippo Brunelleschi.

The inside of the dome is spectacular and, according to the guide, one of the largest paintings done during the Renaissance. It's of the Last Judgement, and it actually seems to glow, even though it is an overcast day.

Rick and I both light candles for our families at the little stands in the middle of the church, then retreat to the sides to sit and breathe in all the history. Although the Duomo is cavernous inside, there are certain things that catch our eye. The one-handed liturgical clock above the main doors is interesting, as are the frescoes and the busts of Giotto and Brunelleschi. Rick particularly likes the circular, stained-glass window above the main altar designed by Donatello.

Outside, the Baptistry doors are lovely, although there are so many people gathered around, even in the rain, it's hard to get a good picture of them. I find it fascinating that within fifty feet of each other, two amazing scientific and artistic marvels were created by two men who not only lived at the same time, but competed for the same projects. Lorenzo Ghiberti competed with Brunelleschi for the Baptistry doors and won; B. then went on to build the amazing dome, which Ghiberti believed unbuildable. A 15th c. reality show!

We have some pizza by the slice just off the Cathedral Square. It's tasty and reasonably-priced (I didn't write down the name). Then we wander towards the Piazza della Signoria, where there are masses of tourists. Of course, you can't help but notice the copy of 'David'. We see the outside of the Uffizi but have decided that since we only have one day in Florence, we are going to forego museums. The American woman we met at dinner in Venice told us that, in her opinion, unless you were into Renaissance art, or just want to say you were there, there's no point in seeing the Uffizi. Having not seen it – there's the catch – I'm not sure I trust someone's bottom line dismissal of what is supposed to be one of the greatest museums in the world. But, I am not a fan of Renaissance art and we only have one day, so we do not go.

We make our way to the Arno and the Ponte Vecchio. We take a few photos but it is beginning to rain very hard and our one umbrella doesn't offer much protection. We decide to head back to our hotel to check in and dry out.

Our room is lovely and we both lay on the bed and listen to the sound of the falling rain. We fall asleep. Later, when we awake, we decide to have dinner in our room. Rick dashes out and procures some quesadilla-looking things (he forgets what they are called) with grilled vegetables, cheese and prosciutto, a bottle of wine and two pieces of a cake with limoncello, nestled in the prettiest little box. We sit by the windows, leaning on the deep sills, munching our dinner and listening to the sounds from the market beneath us, the giggles from tourists stroking the nose of Il Porcellino, church bells and scooters, and teased by the smells of cooking from the apartments nearby. Yes, Florence is very different from Venice; yet we have both been satisfied by the briefest taste.

In the morning, we wander some more, having already decided that we are going to return at the end of our trip. Francesca has arranged for a cab to meet us at the hotel to take us to the Hertz office and everything goes smoothly – we find our way back to the hotel, the driver is there and he gets us to the car rental office in minutes.

Things go downhill from here.

The Hertz office is a madhouse. People are checking in, trying to get cars, arguing with the counter staff, their partners, even the taxi drivers that are dropping them off or picking them up. Nobody is happy and Rick and I decide that I'll stand outside with the luggage and he'll tackle the maelstrom inside. After what seems like an enternity Rick emerges, paler than when he went in, and tells me that we have to drag our luggage to the parking garage around the corner. At this point it starts to rain. And it's not the kind of rain that you romantically listen to while munching your dinner – it's the mean, wet, cold rain that chills you to the bone in seconds.

We arrive at the garage, with five other couples, and proceed up a ramp with our wet luggage. We finally find someone who will look at our paperwork, he grunts at us and disappears. And we wait. The garage is full of hordes of loud, Italian men strutting back and forth and from the little I can understand of the language, they are not fond of tourists. The tourists, even those who do not understand the words, recognize the menace in the air and are silent. I realize as the minutes tick by that we are all slowly moving in towards each other, like wagons circling.

The same scene is enacted four times before we get our car. One of the loud, Italian men screech out of the shadows with a car. He rudely gestures to one of the couples. They meekly step forward. He shoves the paperwork into their hands and walks away, totally ignoring their questions, pleas, raised voices. The contest is to see who will win – the garage dictators or the tourists. A few brave souls run after the dictator, even tug at his shirt but, in the end, us included, we all leave: with the wrong-sized vehicles (we wanted smaller, others were expecting larger), without doing an inspection with a Hertz representative and with something ominous flashing on the dashboard control panel.

If I can give only one piece of advice to anyone renting a car in Italy, be brave; don't leave without, at a minimum, doing the inspection of the car. If only we'd been made of stronger stuff – as you will see when we return the car in two weeks time.

Fortunately, the Hertz counter staff have provided us with a decent map showing us how to get out of Florence. Although we have a wrench symbol flashing on our dashboard and are unable to decipher what it means in the maintenance manual, we decide to leave Florence and head for the cottage we've rented in Moncioni. We become lost, then turned around, but eventually hit the outskirts of the city. Hallelujah. With the rain falling harder and harder, our luggage starting to warm up and smell a bit like wet manure, and our wrench symbol flashing, we venture into the hills – and mountain tops – of Chianti.

Next...Part V – Saturday Night at the Insane Asylum, Snow Chains Required and Finding Eden.

Oh rickmav, this is a cliff hanger!!

And yes, the rain can absolutely chill you to the bone. I have been in it during storms like you described and it seems as there is no way to get warm. I actually flew home a bit early one time..it rained like that for days and I finally couldn't take it any more.

And the Florentine's can be very abrupt, they enjoy the money the tourists spend but a lot of them do not enjoy the tourists.

ricmav I cannot adequately tell you how lovely your report is to read. I have been to Venice 3 times and from the outset you evoke all that I know and love about the place . I caught my breath and my spine tingled when you told us all of you and your husband reciting Elizabeth Barrett Browning together ! What you highlight for me is the need to be observant - always - as if not you are likely to miss the most wonderful if fleeting moment .I am there again in June and shall eat a gelati and drink a glass or two of prosecco too your good health and swift return .Salute to you and your husband.

ricmav,

I am so enjoying being transported back to beautiful, beautiful Italy. I think your one sentence says it better than anything else..."And then you try to understand it with your head, but that is impossible, it is something you must absorb with your heart."

Yes.

Hi, Rickmav - a cliff-hanger indeed.

A phrase that we have learnt from the Michel Thomas tapes that comes in very useful in such circumstances as you encountered at the Hertz desk is

" non e possibile per me cosi"

Literally, "it is not possible for me this way"

But i can imagine how intimidating these people were, so I'm not sure I'd have had the courage to use it!

Looking forward to more.

REgards

Ann

Tell me you write for a living, or used to! This is a great read.

LoveItaly - My husband laughed at me when I called the rain 'mean'. But you obviously know exactly what that means.

JohnFitz - How lovely your words are. We would be honoured if you would raise a glass - or two - to us when you are in Venice.

Traviata - Thanks for your encouragement. While in England, I appreciated the layered history of the places we visited - it was more a cerebral reaction. In Italy, it was totally different. I wasn't prepared for the way my emotions were triggered.

annhig - Thanks for the tip. That's a great phase - I'll have to remember it for our 'next' trip to Italy. (Hopefully, by then I'll be brave enough to actually use it.)

dcd - Thanks for boosting my ego. I was in Public Relations for a long time, then taught Communications; not sure if that prepared me for writing a trip report. But when you've got such good material to work with....

--------------------------------------
Part V – Saturday Night at the Insane Asylum, Snow Chains Required and Finding Eden
---------------------------------------
If anyone should ever ask me if I'd driven the Via Chiantigiana, the 'wine road' between Florence and Siena, I would have to say yes. If they asked me if I saw anything beautiful or memorable, I would have to say, not really.

Although I had made copious notes of things to see on the way to our rented cottage near Montevarchi, Mother Nature intervened. Through a blur of rain, and then fog as we climbed higher, we caught glimpses of villages and just-harvested vineyards, green hills and glistening rivers. But, sadly, just glimpses. Greve, Radda, Gaiole became simply names on blue highway signs, milestones on our way to shelter.

I'd also never appreciated before how mountainous Chianti is. I was brought up in the Canadian Rockies and, I suppose, had a certain arrogance about 'our mountains' compared to, what I thought of, as Tuscan hills. That attitude is radically altered by every kilometre we climb higher.

Finally, we arrive at Montevarchi, the largest town near our cottage (little did we know how much further we would have to climb). Since we were under strict instructions from the owner of Podere La Rota (www.summersleases.com/chianti.cfm)
that we could only arrive between five and 6 p.m., we decide to stop here and stock up on groceries.

Apparently, shopping for supplies on a Saturday night is the same wherever you go in the world. Insane! We stop at a gas station, ask for directions to a supermercato and are pointed in the direction of the Montevarchi IperCoop. As the week wore on I came to love this place, but with everyone in town there - shopping, visiting, browsing, arguing, laughing - it is overwhelming and a bit mad.
The store is kind of like a classy Wal-Mart with groceries, clothes and the most delicious take-away, homemade meals. There's also a mini-mall inside the store where you can get your clothes washed, eyes checked, keys made, etc.

We pick up what we think we might need for a day or so and then browse the take-away deli for dinner. There are so many choices, but we finally decide on a lasagne al ragu to go. We are trying to look inconspicuous, which is a bit hard since my husband is a blonde-brown-haired Irishman and I am a redhead of English stock. Everyone else, from children to seniors has these wonderful brown eyes and thick, dark locks. But we are caught out at the checkout counter. We forgot to weigh and tag our bananas!

Rick is confused, but I know right away that somewhere in my notes I have copied down the exact procedure for weighing and tagging fruit from the slowtrav website (http://www.slowtrav.com/italy/foodsh...permarkets.htm). We end up leaving the bananas behind; we have already drawn enough attention to ourselves and although the looks are all friendly, we don't want to turn the crowd against us.

We have a devil of a time following the instructions given to us by the owner of Podere La Rota and it is getting darker and still raining. We return to the gas station and ask them if they can make any sense out of what is written and they are stumped, but do recognize 'Cimitero' and give us instructions to the local cemetery. From there, we find our way – and begin to climb.

I can only say that it is probably a good thing that we couldn't actually see the valley bottom. We are both focused on navigating the road that gets narrower and narrower as we climb, and as the fog thickens, I keep an eye on the road edge – I'm on the vertical descent side, and Rick leans forward in his seat to try to distinguish oncoming traffic and manoeuvre around rocks on the road. What really freaks us out are the warning signs we pass on the way – Slippery Roads, Crumbling Rock, and Snow Chains Recommended.

Finally, we reach the miniscule village of Moncioni, 'wrapped in a gauzy veil' (as Shelley would say), and try to find the road to our cottage. Unfortunately, the owner's instructions tell us to look for three large cypresses. At 6:00 o'clock at night, in a torrential rainstorm, with fog all around us, that's not that helpful. Finally, Rick pulls over and I get out of the car and start walking. Eventually, I see what I think are the cypresses, return to the car and we turn down a dirt road and eventually come to some lights.

Bob Monroe, the English owner of Summer Leases, the agency we have rented the cottage from, also owns, with his wife Ally, Podere La Rota. He is waiting for us with a flashlight and shows us to our cottage, which is perched on a hillside just below his. It's cold outside and Bob explains the complicated (or so it seems to us after our long and complicated day) the heating system. He warns us that it is very expensive and that the cost is not included in our rental fee, but we are freezing and only want to be warm. (For two hours of heat, it costs us 5 euros.)

Although we cannot appreciate the view until morning – and what a view it is! – the cottage is very pretty inside. There is a sitting room, separate dining room and good-sized kitchen on the main floor, and a beautiful bedroom with crisp, white linens and a luxurious bathroom on the second floor. The place is spotless and Ally, Bob's wife, has filled our fridge with all kinds of wonderful things. (Water, champagne, milk, juice, eggs, bread, butter, a huge plate of proscuitto, tomatoes and mozzarella balls, and an antipasti tray with pickled onions, sun-dried tomatoes, pickles and olives.)

The other bonus is that Bob provides his own bottled red and white wine, and champagne that you can purchase from him for a reasonable amount (About 3.50 euros per bottle). We are disappointed that the fireplace doesn't work, for some reason I thought we would be cuddling up before a fire in Chianti, but it is permanently out of commission. There is a TV that has the BBC news and a CD player with a selection of CDs. And a few shelves of wonderful books on Italy.

The next morning, the sun comes out and we are astonished at the Eden that's all ours for seven days. As we sit with our morning coffee, appreciating the views, we hear gunshots from somewhere lower in the valley. Because it is so quiet, sound travels easily and the shots are always followed by men speaking excitedly. Later in the week, Rick asks Ally what they are hunting and she replies, "Anything that moves." Hope that doesn't include Canadian tourists!

The wonderful stone terrace, which runs the entire length of the house, becomes like another living room for us. It overlooks the mountains, a village or two and miles of olive groves. There are French doors from the sitting room and kitchen, and it comes equipped with tables, chairs, loungers and the largest umbrella we have ever seen. (There is, unfortunately, a bustling bug metropolis living underneath it and we rely on the surrounding trees for shade rather than open it.)

The cottage comes complete with three visiting cats – which try to get in if you leave a window open – and Livia, a gentle Maremma sheep dog that spends most of her day with us. Bob has had a look at the flashing wrench on our dashboard and thinks the vehicle might need oil. When Rick checks, it is down a quart or two; hopefully, that's all it is. Tomorrow we'll go to Montevarchi and see if we can find some oil – and not the good kind you cook with!

We spend the day at the cottage, doing laundry, writing letters, reading. We are still a bit freaked from our ride here and want to enjoy the sunshine, amazing views, and the quiet. Rick and Livia go to explore the village of Moncioni and I begin reading Marlena de Blasi's book, 'A Thousand Days in Venice'. Later on, we play the card game Rick has invented while we have been on holiday called 'Vino', of course, and smooth off its rough edges. Ours as well, with a little of the grape.

We stay out on the terrace until we cannot see anything except the outline of the trees against an inky blue sky, and then, reluctantly, go inside. We have some toast and sample some of Ally's wonderful antipasti, watch the BBC News and go to bed. It is so quiet, particularly after Florence, that I keep waking up to listen to it.

Next...Part VI – Communicating With Mechanics in Italian (or not!), Tackling the Fruit Machine and Falling in Love With San Gimignano

rickmav - I have never been to Italy. You are bringing it alive for me. Your account is making me want to visit and also to wonder could we manage on our own unable to speak the language.

The car rental sounds brutal.

Hurry back with more.

Sandy

Still enjoying your time in Italy rickmav and how wonderful the restful day at your cottage must have been. I am sure you both took a big sigh of relief when you arrived. The cottage sounds delightful and the owners sound very lovely and hospitable. I have been on similar country/mountains roads during terrible weather, not relaxing or fun is it. One time I actually had indentations in the palms of my hand from my fingernails, lol.

I still have to look at all of your photos, I am saving that joy for last.

So, you got Rick rested and well fed so that he can deal with the mechanic, this should be interesting.

Still loving this, rickmav. I am teaching narrative and description to my ESL writing students right now, and your trip report is a wonderful example of both! Your writing has a lovely flow to it.

Great images of scenes in Venice. I can picture the brother & sister. I must be feeling emotional today; that and the two of you reciting Elizabeth B. B. are very sweet.

Next time in Florence, try a stop in to see David, and maybe the Botticelli room at the Uffizi. Although I love love love art museums, I can only take so much religious art. But I could stare at Botticelli's faces all day. Even a non-renaissance art fan may enjoy his dreamy visions. And it is amazing to me to see David, the Holy Family painting in the Uffizi, the Sistine ceiling & St Peter's dome and try to fathom that Michelangelo created them all. Now that's a Renaissance man!

Love the shopping trip story, rickmav. Brings back funny memory of being scolded on no unceratin terms in Greve for picking up my apples without the disposable plastic gloves on...at least I did remember to weigh the suckers!

More, please.

uh, IN no uncertain terms...

Oh, don't know how to spell in English, but maybe 'sumi masen' or 'gomen na sai' for your next sweeping encounter with a Japanese tourist?

oh I cannot wait for the next installment!!!!