rpowell

I am enjoying your wonderful eperiences and vivid descriptions. My husband and I will be making a similar trip in late October. My question for you is of a practical nature. What type of clothing did you pack? I know that layering is a must, but at that time of the year did you need a winter coat, rain coat, sweaters, umbrella? I'm lookig forward to your last installment!

rickmav

Hi rpowell - Glad you are enjoying my ramblings. Hope you and your husband have a great time. If you send me an email at [email protected] I'll send you our packing list. But generally, you're right, layering is important. We didn't take winter coats - I don't know where you are from, but in Canada that means a parka and we definitely didn't need that. Both our jackets were fairly light-weight, but roomy enough so we could wear a t-shirt and sweater underneath. We didn't take a rain coat, but did have an umbrella. Both our jackets had hoods that tucked up inside. The few times it did rain, we either used that time to see things inside, eat in a restaurant or picnic in the car. Let me know if you have any other questions.

SandyBrit

rickmav - How interesting that you are not allowed to set your thhermostat above 18 celsius (about 64 Fahrenheit) in that part of Italy. I wonder how that could be enforced and what happened if you turned the heat up a bit?

Looking forward to your final 4 days. This has been so interesting and just packed with information.

Thanks for taking so much time from your busy life to post such an informative trip report.

Sandy

rickmav

rpowell - I tried to send the packing list to your email but it keeps getting returned. I've tried typing it in or just replying to your message and still the same. Is there another email I can send the packing list to?

Hi SandyBrit - I didn't think to ask Silvana what would happen if it was above 18 or how they monitored it - maybe the amount of gas used on their monthly bill divided by the number of days and cost of gas - or maybe there are heat police! Glad you have enjoyed the report.

rickmav

Next...Part XI - The Balcony of Umbria, It's a Small, Small World and Taking on the Garage Dictators in Florence

Another crisp, autumn day this morning. Did some laundry by hand and hung it on the balcony. Hope it's there when we get back! We decide to drive into Montefalco, one of Silvana's favourite towns. It's known as 'La rhinghiera dell'Umbria' – the 'balcony of Umbria' because of its views. The journey there is picturesque, all these wonderful hills dotted with the green-silver gleam of olive trees.

We enter Montefalco through the Porto San Agostino. The town is peaceful and charming, and although Silvana has said that there are more than 5,000 inhabitants, it is very quiet. Strange to think that there have been people living here since the 4th c. Montefalco is in the middle of Umbria's most important grape-growing area and is the birthplace of eight Catholic saints. We stop at two churches as we wander, both empty except for us.

The Church of San Agostino dates from the 13-14th c. and has parts of the original frescoes inside, they are quite beautiful, particularly the Coronation of the Virgin. Weirder, is a long, glass box that has, what looks like, the crumpled figure of a man inside. Apparently, it is the mummified body of Beato Pellegrino (the "Blessed Pilgrim&quot.

The man, so the story goes, came to Montefalco on pilgrimage. When it got late he asked the friars if they had a bed he could use for the night. After 'checking in', he returned to the church to pray. In the morning, the sacristan found the pilgrim sitting on the ground with one hand supporting the confessional. Sometime during the night, he'd passed away.

The friars buried the body, but the day after the burial the body of the 'Blessed Pilgrim' was found in the church, in the same position, with one hand against the confessional. This continued for some time. Finally, the friars put the body in the bell tower, where it remained for 100 years without decomposing. Eventually, the friars decided to place the 'Blessed Pilgrim' in a more public spot where he could inspire others. I'm not sure he had that affect on me.

Also, inside the church is the most amazing, tiny, carved figures that come to life when you flip a switch (after making a donation to the church). The main part of the display is a Nativity scene complete with flying angels. The rest is a village, full of all the different people doing the various things that people in a village do – like baking bread, packing up a donkey, fishing, etc. There is even a moving water wheel. I keep putting coins in the donation box and flipping the switch because each time everything starts moving, I see something different. I think any child – or adult - would be mesmerized with Montefalco's version of 'It's a Small, Small World' for hours.

Next, we visit the Museo Civico di San Francesco, housed in an old church. The frescoes here are amazing, depicting the life of St. Francis, and the colours are unbelievable. Benozzo Gozzoli, the Umbrian artist who painted them, lived from 1421 to 1497. He was a pupil of Fra Angelico's and worked with Ghiberti and over the years, painted in Rome, San Gimignano, Pisa and Orvieto, where you can still see many of his works. I'm not that crazy about some of the paintings in the museum, they all seem a bit overblown to me. I like something simpler. Rick likes the frescoes and the fact that the building is very warm.

Next, we walk towards the Piazza del Commune, the central square in Montefalco, which is surrounded by lovely, old buildings. This is where Maurio, Silvana's husband, has his office as president of the La Strada del Agrantino. Silvana has recommended Enoteca L'Alchemista for lunch, but it seems to be closed, so we have lunch at a cafe-internet bar called Caffe de Corso. It reminds us of an Italian version of 'Central Perk' from the show 'Friends' and, in fact, there is a large, flat screen TV in one corner that is showing commercials for 'Friends' reruns – in Italian, of course – when we come in.

The staff don't speak that much English but are helpful and patient with our little bit of Italian. Good thing hand signals are a universal language. Rick has a pannini with salami and I have a pizza with proscuitto, mozzarella and tomatoes. They are both very good. It's also fun watching the Italian customers, particularly the style of the young Italian women - they are so beautiful. It must be a popular place for twenty/thirty somethings – there seems to be a lot of flirting and testosterone in the air.

We do see our first 'stand-out in a crowd' Americans. The woman has flip-up sunglasses that she leaves up as she walks about, is wearing yellowish-brown pants that are very tight, and is eating something from a paper bag. Her husband is decked out in Chicago Bulls paraphernalia, from his cap to his striped socks. They are trying to change a reservation and want to use a computer but are having a difficult time communicating their needs to the proprietor. I try to help, although my Italian isn't very good when it comes to discussing the Internet. When the woman starts complaining about Italy and Italians, I excuse myself and return to my meal. Certainly not typical of Americans we have met on this trip.

We walk to the belvedere, which juts out over the Umbrian countryside, and get a 360-degree view of the Vale de Umbria. Silvana has told us that you can see Perugia, Assisi, Spoleto, Trevi, Bevagna, Foligno, Bettano, Pissignano and a bunch of other small towns, as well as the Clitunno River. I'm not familiar enough with them all to be able to pick them out – let's just say it is a spectacular vista. And I'm so impressed with how tidy the vineyards and farms look, reminds me of England.

We suddenly notice a body in the grass, below where we have parked, and think perhaps we've stumbled on our very own Italian murder mystery. But nothing so exciting – the body is actually two, a boy and girl and they are obviously oblivious to the rest of the world. You can tell how old I am because my first thought as I look at them is how can they possibly lay on the cold ground - I suppose when you are that age, 'rheumatism' is a foreign concept.

We stop for gas on the way home and can't figure out the self-service instructions. We see where the gas comes from and know where it goes, but can't figure out where to put our money. We drive a bit further down the road and there is a little garage with this wonderful man who speaks no English but is very eager to fill our car with gas. I try to talk Rick into saying, 'quindiece euro, per favore', but he won't. I watch in the side window to see what he does and my ever-inventive husband merely flashes his five fingers three times and the man nods, fills the car with gas and away we go.

Since we are nearby, we decide to stop at Bevagna. It's such an interesting place. It looks like it should be a hilltop fortification, with its serious, masculine-looking walls, and yet its built on level ground right by the road – which kind of takes away the attitude. We've read in a little booklet in our apartment that Bevagna's walls are built on 1st century Roman foundations. Amazing.

Then we drive on to Gualdo Cattaneo, another walled town. The most striking thing about the town as you approach is the massive tower built by Pope Alexander VI. It's quite intimidating - maybe that's why we've waited until the last day to visit the place. We've driven by it so many times on our way to somewhere else, have even purchased supplies from the little shop on the main road, but have never gone inside the walls. There is a lot of new construction going on, so it is a bit dusty and noisy, but once you get inside, it's very still and strange. You feel like you are in one of those cheap, 'B' movies made during the 60s. And something surreal and LSD-induced is going to occur. Apparently, the name 'Gualdo' actually derives from the Old Saxon word 'Wald' meaning wood. How the word got to Italy, I haven't been able to discover.

Before we leave, we buy a new batch of the Bacetto chocolates we've become addicted to – made in Perugia – from the little shop on the road.

After we get home, we sit outside and drink some wine, watch a little CNN and go to bed early. We are sad to be leaving and it doesn't seem right to celebrate in any way. Silvana drops by for a farewell chat and brings her daughter, such a beautiful girl. It really does feel as if we are leaving something more than just a self-catering apartment. I can't explain it exactly, but it's as if we've been here before, we felt that comfortable. Of course, a lot of that is due to Silvana.

It's cooled down outside but we open the windows anyway, cuddle under the blankets and breathe our last – for now – olive-scented, night air in Umbria.

At 6:30 a.m., the rooster starts crowing. It's quite frosty with the open window and everything, and we stretch it out until 6:45 but then we have to get up and get going. Today, we are returning our 'damaged' vehicle to Florence and don't know what kind of drive it will be. Neither one of us is looking forward to driving into Florence, nor in trying to convince the garage dictators at Hertz that our 'dint' was there when we picked up the car.

It is a lovely, clear morning as we drive away from Le Case Gialle and I feel strange that we are leaving another 'home' on this four-month odyssey. But we are also excited about spending Xmas in England and our next cottage in Wilmcote, just outside Stratford.

We don't go very far before we come on a car accident. We can only see one car that's damaged, with its windshield all smashed up, but there are about 10-15 men all along the road, standing beside their cars. There is a person laying on the ground, off the road by some olive trees, and there are people kneeling beside her or him. A man steps forward from the crowd along the road and waves us through. About 10 miles later, we pass the ambulance climbing the hill towards the accident. Not a great way to begin the day – hope the person was okay.

It takes us about two hours to get to Florence on the autostrada. We stop at an Autogrille en-route to pick up something for breakfast – and a bathroom break. The German gymnastics team – or some facsmile - is lined up to go in the washrooms, so I decide to go and eat the strudel we've bought first. When I go back to try the washroom again, they are still there. All of a sudden, this little Italian woman, who cleans the bathroom, grabs me by the arm, right out of the line-up, and marches me past the young women and into the men's washroom. I try and shield my eyes; I know there are at least three men with their backs to me. The cleaner pushes open a stall door, checks to make sure there are no male midgets lurking behind the toilet and says, 'Allora' – which I take to mean, 'For God's sake, just take a pee'.

I try and be as quiet as I can be, I don't know what repercussions there will be if the men discover there is a woman in their midst. When I'm done, I take a deep breath, throw open the door and march quickly towards where I hope the entrance is. I leave a tip for the Italian woman in her basket as I pass by. She nods her head. And the gymnastic team are still lined up.

I have to say I amaze myself, and my husband, that I manage to get us back safely to the Hertz garage in Florence. I use the map the Hertz representative gave us to get out of Florence, and a city map I have, and between the two and remembering certain landmarks, we arrive in one piece.

At the garage, they are as indifferent to the car – and us - as when we were first there. So, we head for the Hertz office, certain that once the garage dictators have a better look at the car there will be a major to-do. And there is. We are in the office only a few minutes when one of the garage dictators walks in and says, in a loud voice so everyone can hear, 'There is a big problem with the car'. Everyone looks at us and my heart sinks.

Rick sticks to his story that the 'dint' was there when we picked up the car and the Hertz representative becomes surlier and surlier. He has Rick (me, actually) write a story about when we picked up the car and how the garage dictator wouldn't do a walk around with us, the flashing wrench symbol, etc. But you can tell he doesn't believe us. Rick remains calm but assertive. Finally, the Hertz rep., who speaks excellent English, tells us that he will have to contact Rome and check the paperwork on the car. That will take some time so we agree that he will contact Francesca (the landlady) at our hotel, the Relais Cavalcanti. He calls us a cab and we go outside to wait, certain that we will end up paying a significant deductible and doing the 'what if' game. ('What if' we'd insisted on doing a walk-around inspection before we left with the car, 'what if' we'd called Autoeurope and asked their advice, etc.)

As we are pulling away from the Hertz office in our cab – this is just like a movie scene - the Hertz representative runs out of the office building and chases after the cab banging on the windows. The taxi driver looks as perplexed as we are. Rick rolls down his window and the Hertz rep. tell us that he has just this moment heard from Rome and yes, we are right, the car did have a dint when we picked it up. His manner has completely changed. He is very apologetic and I think shocked that, in fact, we were right. Maybe, he'll be a bit more disposed to believe the next tourist who tells a similar story.

It makes me even more cynical about the garage dictators though. Either they didn't see the 'dint' and they should have, or they did and tried to get some unsuspecting tourist, like us, to pay twice for the same damage. Or maybe they just like messing with the 'turistas' minds.

Francesca is, as always, so welcoming when we arrive at the Relais Cavalcanti. We settle into our room, still a bit shocked about the car, but thankful everything has turned out okay.

We realize we are starving. We have lunch at La Grotta Guelfa, just across the street (on via Pellicceria) from our hotel. The staff move a lot of people through while we are there, so we assume it must be a popular place. The crowd looks like an assortment of tourists and Italians on their lunch break. There is both indoor and outdoor seating and the staff are not overly friendly but efficient. They have a tourist menu, which is a very good deal, but you have to ask for it. I have a delicious chicken breast with mozzarella in this thin, exquisitely seasoned sauce and Rick has pici ragu. We share a salad and have a glass of wine each (no car to worry about now). I notice a lot of people are ordering fish dishes and seem to be enjoying them.

After lunch, we continue to discover Florence. There is so much to see, or you can just sit, as we eventually do, and people watch while you eat some gelato (we buy ours at the Gelateria Caffè delle Carrozze near the Ponte Vecchio). I have two scoops: one double chocolate, the other orange; Rick has coconut and caramel. We buy some last-minute gifts from the market below our building, and then head back to the room for a short siesta.

We sleep for an hour or so, take showers and then back out into the street. For some reason, Florence does this to us. We just want to be in the thick of things. In London, for example, where everyone is going a thousand miles an hour, we hate crowds. But in Florence, it seems as if everyone, like us, is just wandering. I can't imagine what it would be like in the summer though; I don't think I would like it then.

We walk to the Ponte Vecchio, it's absolutely stacked with jewellery shops, and has been that way for centuries. In the middle of the bridge, we come upon a protest. There are people of different ages and nationalities dressed in black with white paint on their faces and on their backs is a piece of paper with the name of an Arab person killed in Afghanistan or Iraq. I gather it is family members who are bringing attention to the ordinary people that are being killed. They just stand there, not moving and silent. With a huge, autumn moon and the glistening lights off the water, it is an intense moment. There are others who are passing out leaflets to passers-by and later on I try to read the Italian – I can only understand some of it. Basically, it says that with all the armed conflicts going on in the world today, we are actually fighting another world war.

After the Ponte Vecchio, we wander towards the Piazza della Signoria, considered the political heart of Florence since the Middle Ages. There is a sound and light show being projected on the Loggia dei Lanzi, with huge black and white photographs accompanied by the sounds of thunder and lightening. Inside the Loggia are 15 statues, including Cellini's 'Perseus' holding up the head of the Medusa, and it seems to fit with the theme of the photos. They all show the aftermath of disasters, earthquakes, floods, etc. Kind of depressing but very atmospheric, particularly with the monuments around, like the Fountain of Neptune and the equestrian statue of Cosimo I, flooded in purple light.

There is a young, Chinese woman selling light sticks in the crowd and it adds another level of sensory excitement to our experience to watch the young kids wrapping them around their necks or throwing them in the air.

We are still full from lunch, but buy a pannini to share - loaded with salami and cheese - and another gelato from one of the many shops on Via Calz. We walk and eat, then sit for a bit, watching the African men selling their leather purses on the street. They lay their wares out on blankets and when they see a police car coming down the street, they whisk up the blankets, step back into the shadows, and five seconds after the carabinieri leave, they are set up on the street again.

We buy a small bag of roasted chestnuts from a vendor; we've never tried them before. The taste is unexpected, not nutty at all. Kind of like a potato, but with a buttery, sweet taste. They are very warm and make us feel a bit Christmas-y.

After we go back to our room, we sit at our window and watch the goings-on in the square beneath us; it's a popular spot at night because of Il Porcellino – everyone wants to rub his snout. We eat some Italian potato chips, they aren't that bad, and drink wine and ask each other Trivial Pursuit questions from a game we've discovered in a bookcase in the breakfast room. We aren't very serious about answering the questions, there is too much happening outside, but it's fun to see who will be the first to get every question on a card right. As it turns out, we get sleepy before either of us manage it. We go to bed knowing that we have only one more sleep in Italy.

Next...Part XII – Our Last Day in Italy (For Now)

travelfan1

Oh my... writing like this should be illegal....I am now ready to make a mad dash to the airport stowing myself away on the 1st flight to Italy! I read, I sigh, I read, I yearn, I read....oooooohhh...our trip back isn't for another 11 months...Rickmav, I won't last that long! A wonderful, beautiful trip report and as someone who's been married for 27 years I can appreciate so many of your marriage/age comments! Thank you ever so much for sharing with us!

rpowell

Your story is keeping me laughing! My husband is trying to watch tv and I keep interrupting him to read portions of your story to him. I love the way you are eating gelato every time you turn around. That will be me!

SandyBrit

Rickmav - I have to keep reminding myself I am not reading a book but that this is your actual trip report!

Amazing how you were picked out of the queue for the ladies toilet by the cleaner to use the men's. Whatever did the other ladies in the queue think?

Sandy

rpowell

I received your packing list. Thanks. You certainly packed lightly! I imagine you were tired of those outfits by the time you returned home. I'm looking forward to your next installment.

LoveItaly

Hello rickmav, I am going to be sorry to see the last of your trip report. The same feeling I get when I start the last chapter of a book I am enthralled with. Your generosity in taking the time to share the long trip you and your Rick experienced is so appreciated. Thank you!!

rickmav

Part XII – Our Last Day (For Now) in Italy

The next morning we are up early, not because of any noise but because of a smell. Of coffee. One of the guests has put a pot on in the little breakfast room down the hall from us, and it smells so good. Rick ventures out to see if there's any to share and, luckily, there is. The couple responsible for the coffee are French. (Or so Rick says. That could mean they are anything from Russian to Japanese. He always says people are French if they speak with an accent. Last time it turned out they were Scots!) Whatever country they are from, they are very nice to him and eagerly share the coffee they've made. But, boy, does it have a bite!

Since we weren't sure when we might get a chance to see 'David' at the Galleria dell'Accademia, we haven't made reservations. But after a brisk 15-minute walk, we are there shortly after the museum opens and there is no line-up. (This is a Sunday, in early November.)

I know it's a sin to be in Florence and not see more museums, but we figure we've been appreciating the museum of Florentine life – or a slice of it, anyway – out on the streets. We're glad that we do see the 'David', however.

Michelangelo (I keep practicing the way the Italians say his name, kind of like 'Meeka an jello') was one talented man. It's amazing to think that Leonardo, Michelangelo and Titian all lived at the same time. It must have been a remarkable time to be alive.

I never knew that other artists had actually worked on the block of Carrara marble Michelangelo carved 'David' from. Nor that the piece was originally intended to be displayed in the Piazza della Signoria. (In 1873 it was moved inside to protect it from weather, soot, etc.)

I had read before that the statue of 'David' looks out of proportion when seen up close and personal. (I could make a Monty Python-type 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' aside, but I won't.) So I was prepared for the odd-sized limbs when we walked in and looked up – way, way up. What I wasn't prepared for was the colour of the marble - I'd always thought it was white, the amazing way the curls have been carved, and the haughtiness of the face (I guess the guy's entitled, he just slew a giant).

Some experts believe that Michelangelo made the head and hands larger, and the arms longer, because the statue would have originally been seen outside, and from a distance, and he wanted those parts to stand out. I'd also read that David's pose represents the combination of reflection and action;he rests on one leg – representing thought, while the other leg is bent - as if he were going to step off the pedestal and slay Goliath all over again.

We sit for a bit and listen to what people are saying. It's kind of fun to look at people's reactions when they first walk into the room. It's also interesting to see the unfinished 'Slaves'. The statue was originally intended for Pope Julius II's tomb. Julius was Michelangelo's demanding patron for many years, and I've just finished reading a book about his daughter, Felice - which gives a fascinating glimpse of 15th and 16th c. life in Italy ('The Pope's Daughter: The Extraordinary Life of Felice della Rovere by Caroline P. Murphy').

On the way back to the hotel we check our email messages at the Internet Train located just around the corner from the Relais Cavalcanti, (everything is so close, why would anyone stay anywhere else?). You get a little credit card with the amount of time you want on it, and can use it at any of their branches. The fellow at the counter speaks perfect English and my fellow e-mailers are an international lot. We have been anxious to get back a confirmation from the hotel we are staying at on our first night in England (The Falkland Arms at Great Tew, just outside Banbury). Thankfully, it's there.

We also check into our Ryanair flight (never again, she says. I'll explain this later). The flight leaves at 10:10 a.m. from the Pisa airport. It's a bit more than an hour by train from Florence and with all the security check-ins, etc. we have to take the 6:37 a.m. train. Yikes! Another early morning. We buy the tickets from a little travel agency recommended by Francesca – again, just around the corner from the hotel – for 10 euros (for both of us). I don't know where in the world you can travel by train that cheaply. Well, I haven't been everywhere in the world – but you get the idea. It cost 7 euros for a five-minute cab ride from the train station! Francesca has called us a cab for tomorrow morning at 6:10.

Ryanair has rigid bag restrictions and you have to pay, what I consider, an outrageous amount for every kilo that you are over. That's, obviously, where they make their money. We've flown with them once before, from Manchester to Dublin, and that was a nightmare. Hope tomorrow is better (it isn't).

Do a bit of gift shopping for people at home – nothing big because we don't have the room. Some earrings, scarves and an Italian soccer toque for my great-nephew. Rick barters with everyone. If it were up to me, I'd be paying them twice what they ask. Rick enjoys the back and forth as much as the vendors seem to.

Rick runs our purchases back to our room and then we go to MammaMia for lunch (again, just around the corner on Piazza del Mercato Nuovo). It is very nice. We get a seat by the window and as we sit there, with our bottle of wine, framed by a dramatic pair of curtains in burgundy toile woven with gold thread, we are admired – or at least I think that's what's going on – by tourists walking by. The food is nicely presented and they offer us different menu choices for pre-set amounts. You can mix-and-match, which means we get a bit creative. The menu we select is 12 euros each and from four courses, you can each choose two things.

So we decide to order different things and share. For the antipasti, Rick has bruschetta, which is delicious - although not quite as good as my sister Vanessa's. (It's to die for!). For the primi, I order rigatoni pepe al ragu with green and red peppers, tomatoes and meat sauce. For the secondi, Rick orders strips of beef in a creamy, cheese sauce and it comes with a mixed salad. I order the dessert, which is an amazing mousse, made with dark chocolate and strawberry and then drizzled with more chocolate. The waitress, who is lovely, even brings us two spoons! Also included is a litre bottle of water, and coffee – which we decline, since we are still buzzed from breakfast.

We linger over our wine and it really is the perfect way to spend our last day in Italy. As we sit there, a bit tipsy from the wine and all the chocolate, I realize that I am in the midst of one of those transcendent moments where you know what it is to be living a well-lived life. I feel beautiful, I am in love, I am full and I am blessed. What else is there?

To walk off lunch - and before my emotions turn maudlin – we head for Santa Croce to see the church where Michelangelo is buried (as well as Galileo – another favourite Renaissance man of mine. There's a great book about his daugher, "Galileo's Daughter: A Historical Memoir of Science, Faith, and Love by Dava Sobel). On the way there, we window-shop and examine watercolours and sketches done by a number of painters working outside. Oh, I wish I had that talent. I can paint in my mind, but stick figures are about as far as I can get when the pencil hits paper. My mother paints, and I am mesmerized by what she can create from 'air'.

Just when we get to the church, 85 different tour groups descend at the entrance (I may be exaggerating a bit) - and it's mayhem. I actually lose Rick for a while but see his head bobbing about, in the middle of a group from Israel – or so their name tags say. He finally manages to get loose and we decide that the Basilica di Santa Croce will have to wait until our 'next' visit.

So, we have our last gelato, (this is the point where you can sob), and sit on the church steps and people-watch. There is so much going on; my head is bouncing back and forth trying to keep on top of everything. There's a group of English boys (probably 14 or 15), sitting down from us, who are obviously visiting Florence with their teacher. He talks for a while and then each of them has to give a little presentation to the others on some piece of Italian history. They are actually quite serious about it for that age – I can't imagine a group of Canadian teenagers being so disciplined. There's a bit of good-natured teasing after each young man finishes, but underneath it all is a serious sense of competition. I admire the teacher for the way he's made the students each responsible for knowing a part of the puzzle that is Firenze. The bonus for us is that we get a series of open-air - and free - lectures on this incredible city.

We decide it will be too sad to make a big production about leaving, so we pretend that we are just taking a shortish holiday away from Italy, and then we'll be back. We have to be up early, so wander back to our room, making sure to stroke Il Porcellino's nose as we go by. We re-pack our suitcases – we still can't take liquids into Britain, watch a bit of CNN and eat our last Bacetto chocolates. We sit at the window for a while, there's a tiny bit of fog obscuring the moon, but around it are glittering stars, like lanterns that will light our way back. For some reason, I'm reminded of a picture by Van Gogh, I think it's Starry Night.

The next morning we are up at 5 a.m. and downstairs waiting for the cab by 6 o'clock. We are actually ready 25 minutes earlier but it is cold outside, so decide to stay warm and talk quietly in our room.

Luckily, the cab driver is a few minutes early, so we don't have long to wait outside. Florence seems like another place at this time of the morning. There are only a few cars about, a person here and there – it's kind of eerie. We decide that next time we come we'll get up at this time and wander around, just to get a sense of the buildings and piazzas without noise and people.

Even the train station seems quiet and we have no trouble finding our train. Rick helps an English woman and her mother with their luggage – they have tons of stuff. I don't want to stare but I can't help notice that the elderly mother looks like she has had the crap beat out of her. As soon as we sit down, they tell us their story. They were on a cruise when the mother fell and cut her head badly. She had to go into hospital where they monitored her for shock and sewed her head back together. Not only is there an ugly gash sitting diagonally across her forehead, but she has two black eyes and a huge bruise covering the lower part of her face.

Obviously, they had to leave the cruise and are flying back to Liverpool from Pisa, through Florence. They both seem as if they are still in shock, and a bit fragile. Rick helps them to get settled into their seats and they are effusive in their thanks.

It takes us about 1½ hours to get to Pisa. In my early morning doziness I've forgotten to stamp our tickets at the station – it's one of those illogical Italian rules that seems to add another level of complexity to a simple procedure. Of course, the lady conductor comes around to check tickets when I am in the loo – which Rick says I've arranged on purpose. It's left to him to charm her - lucky, he's good at that kind of thing. When I return, he tells me that she was very understanding and scribbled something on the ticket, which probably means, when it's translated, 'Look out for these idiots!'.

The train takes us right to the Pisa airport, which is handy. We don't see much of the terminal because we're anxious to get through security; we've been told that line-ups at Italian airports can be very long. Of course, we haven't eaten anything – I assumed there would be somewhere at the airport where we could breakfast. In the departure area, there is only one pastry/coffee shop and everything on display looks desiccated and ancient. We are starving, so share a proscuitto and mozzarella baguette – I can still taste that horrid sandwich.

Security is more serious than we've seen anywhere yet – including Heathrow. By the time we sit in our seats on the plane we've had our passports checked six times. We figure that they must have had a scare or something. And we would never fly with Ryanair again. Because there are so many people, and because there is no pre-assigned seating, it is a madhouse on the plane. People are actually pushing children and older people aside to get the seats they want. The stewards just stand to the side and let the insanity proceed. On top of everything else, the flight is 45 minutes late.

We don't hold it against Italy, however. You get what you pay for, and we decided to go cheap on the return flight. Let that be a lesson for all you kids out there.

I want to say how much I have loved writing about Italy. I didn't know until I started, that I have been using all of my senses as we travelled around the country, perhaps for the first time ever. I will never travel the same again. And your feedback and support have been meaningful, supportive and life enhancing. Thank you.

annhig

No, thank you Rickmav -

I've so enjoyed seeing your journey through your eyes, and reviving my own memories.

Your account of your last day reminded me of our family's experiences in florence [the week before you were there I think] staying in an apartment just round the corner from the accademia.

like you we sat and stared at the David, and listened to the comments of others. unlike you, we then went "ugly baby spotting" - my kids' favourite museum and gallery passtime - and they have some corkers in the accademia. it's a mystery how all those wonderful painters managed to portrait the christ child so badly. and what's with the flying heads?

we also forgot to clip our train tickets at florence station, but unlike you we got fined!!! 5e - fortunately not each.

thanks again for sharing your memories,

regards, ann

Suja

Thank you Rickmav for a great report. A pleasure to read.

LJ

I doubt that my regret that this is the end of your wonderful vignettes is as great as your sadness at leaving Italy, but, trust me, you brought us along for the ride!

SRS

I'm with LJ. That was one great report. My trips to Italy have been truly wonderful, but I can't express the way you can. Thank you so much!

rickmav

travelfan1 - 'Writing like this should be illegal' - I told my mother what you said and she was shocked. She doesn't have the internet and was worried I had been writing something 'dirty'. I had to assure her you meant it in a good way. Send me a postcard if you ever follow up on the stowing-yourself-away caper. Have a great time in Italy when you go - whenever that is!

rpowell - Glad to make you giggle. Give my apologies to your husband. And, yes, I did get a bit tired of the same old clothes, but I'm not really a fashion-type. As long as I'm comfortable and look presentable, that's enough for me. Once we got to Italy, I bought a scarf in a beautiful olive green and once I figured out how to tie the darn thing, it really jazzed things up. Gelato rules!

SandyBrit - "Amazing how you were picked out of the queue for the ladies toilet by the cleaner to use the men's. Whatever did the other ladies in the queue think?" - They were all so young, I think they thought this must happen when you get old: You get special permission to use the men's washroom.

LoveItaly - Thanks for your kind words.

annhig - "ugly baby spotting" - rude, but so true. My husband has an interesting variation. I won't go into detail but it involves women's breasts. Rick was shocked when I told him you got fined 5e - he didn't realize we were in that kind of trouble!

Suja - You're welcome.

LJ - Glad you enjoyed the ride - bumps and all.

SRS - Thanks for sticking with me. Your feedback made me sit down at the computer and get on with it.

carolyn

Rickmav, I have thoroughly enjoyed your reports. Thank you for sharing your travels with us.

Your light packing comments reminded me of an Erma Bombeck article where she said she had gone on a group tour and had bought a three-piece corduroy suit with mix-and-match tops and blouses. She said at the end of the tour, she burned it and all the rest of the group gathered around and cheered.

I'll be looking forward to your return-to-England report.

SusanP

Simply wonderful!
It makes me even more anxious for my return to Italy in late June than I already was. Thank you.

rickmav

Rick has read my last comments and wants me to make a clarification - his comments about women's breasts are restricted to the paintings in museums, and it's not breasts but cleavage. He says I've made him sound like a letch.

You give someone a small taste of fame and right away they want to control the script - and the script-writer!

ssvw27

Thank you! so enjoy your writing