Rickmav – Italy Trip Report: Three Weeks in Venice, Florence, Tuscany & Umbria
Feb 17th, 2007, 10:38 AM
#21
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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.
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.
Feb 17th, 2007, 10:40 AM
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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
I was almost in tears reading your tale about the scrap between the little 6 year old boy and his sister. How beautiful.
Sandy
Feb 17th, 2007, 02:17 PM
#23
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.
Feb 18th, 2007, 02:31 AM
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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.
Feb 18th, 2007, 05:17 PM
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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!
Keep it coming! Thanks in advance!
Feb 19th, 2007, 07:28 PM
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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.
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.
Feb 19th, 2007, 07:45 PM
#30
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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.
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.
Feb 19th, 2007, 08:39 PM
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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.
Feb 20th, 2007, 03:21 AM
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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.
Feb 20th, 2007, 03:47 AM
#33
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
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
Feb 20th, 2007, 11:29 AM
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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
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
Feb 20th, 2007, 03:06 PM
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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
The car rental sounds brutal.
Hurry back with more.
Sandy
Feb 20th, 2007, 07:56 PM
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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.
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.
Feb 21st, 2007, 02:08 PM
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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.
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.
