Trip report: Umbria and Tuscany August 2002
#1
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Trip report: Umbria and Tuscany August 2002
I know I know, who the he** goes to Italy in August? The queues, the heat, the traffic. But hey. I live in London, I love crowds. I suffer from agoraphobia at the merest mention of a field. Besides, it had been at least 6 weeks since my last break and I was in need.
So me, Elaine (Lard to her friends, more to do with her love of English breakfasts than her actual waistline), Dave (can we stop for cigs? I need to stock up. Is it time for an aperitiv? My mother's Italian you know. Er no, I don't speak Italian. But I know a great restaurant in Milan) and Tamara (blond and works in PR, you have to with a name like Tamara) set off to Stansted for our cheapo flight with GO to Bologna.
London Stansted. What a civilised experience after Heathrow and Gatwick. Few people, bright, airy, leisurely, a civilised 12:10pm flight, the perfect start.
So to Bologna, and for the first time I hire a juggernaut rather than a Tonka car. Ok, it was a station wagon, but I'm so used to hiring toy cars on holiday that the space, the aircon, the power stearing felt like a limousine. Good start.
Much strife driving out of the airport (remember I'm used to the "other" side of the road in the UK) plenty of "watch the curb" "you just scraped that bush" "where's the handbrake gone", whilst dodging the oncoming overtakers - you have to admire, I think, the Italian road sense. They comfortably overtake through 1 inch gaps, reassured in the knowledge that you as the oncoming vehicle with veer into the ditch to let them through. They clearly didn't know I'd only been in the car 5 minutes. Trusting souls.
And boy are those autoroute lanes narrow! Or maybe it was just me and my fat car ("Kate! Will you watch the curb! I'll be eating olive trees soon" Yeh yeh.)
So we're on route for Gubbio. Will we make it in time for Bruschette with Truffles? Or will we be stopped for speeding and end up in police cells in Rimini on the way? What is the speed limit anyway? Back later....
So me, Elaine (Lard to her friends, more to do with her love of English breakfasts than her actual waistline), Dave (can we stop for cigs? I need to stock up. Is it time for an aperitiv? My mother's Italian you know. Er no, I don't speak Italian. But I know a great restaurant in Milan) and Tamara (blond and works in PR, you have to with a name like Tamara) set off to Stansted for our cheapo flight with GO to Bologna.
London Stansted. What a civilised experience after Heathrow and Gatwick. Few people, bright, airy, leisurely, a civilised 12:10pm flight, the perfect start.
So to Bologna, and for the first time I hire a juggernaut rather than a Tonka car. Ok, it was a station wagon, but I'm so used to hiring toy cars on holiday that the space, the aircon, the power stearing felt like a limousine. Good start.
Much strife driving out of the airport (remember I'm used to the "other" side of the road in the UK) plenty of "watch the curb" "you just scraped that bush" "where's the handbrake gone", whilst dodging the oncoming overtakers - you have to admire, I think, the Italian road sense. They comfortably overtake through 1 inch gaps, reassured in the knowledge that you as the oncoming vehicle with veer into the ditch to let them through. They clearly didn't know I'd only been in the car 5 minutes. Trusting souls.
And boy are those autoroute lanes narrow! Or maybe it was just me and my fat car ("Kate! Will you watch the curb! I'll be eating olive trees soon" Yeh yeh.)
So we're on route for Gubbio. Will we make it in time for Bruschette with Truffles? Or will we be stopped for speeding and end up in police cells in Rimini on the way? What is the speed limit anyway? Back later....
#5
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Thanks Joy, I am indeed not Lard, as the designated driver for most of this trip, I think I deserve a more commanding and respectful title - Senora Caterina will do just fine.
So, after many a winding road ("Don't the Italians believe in road signs?" "Stop trying the blame the Italians for your poor map reading" etc), we arrive in Gubbio as darkness falls. Lots of tooting car horns. Ooh is it a fiesta? Oh, it's just a football match.
Our sole purpose here is food, but I must say Gubbio looks wonderful, a dark and brooding hill town hugging the cliff. We constantly remarked at how we were glad we hadn't arrived in winter, as those steep icy cobbles would have had us skidding down to Assisi on our derrieres.
After the obligatory truffles on toast (english translation) and a fair swilling on local wine (except for Dave, who has now been sacked from map reading duty and reassigned to driver), we set off for our first lodgings - the magical Castello di Petroia (http://www.castellodipetroia.com), complete with obligatory Count.
I sense I'm rambling, we've only been in Italy 4 hours and I've already filled up two sections of my report. I'll try not to describe every toilet break from now on....
So, after many a winding road ("Don't the Italians believe in road signs?" "Stop trying the blame the Italians for your poor map reading" etc), we arrive in Gubbio as darkness falls. Lots of tooting car horns. Ooh is it a fiesta? Oh, it's just a football match.
Our sole purpose here is food, but I must say Gubbio looks wonderful, a dark and brooding hill town hugging the cliff. We constantly remarked at how we were glad we hadn't arrived in winter, as those steep icy cobbles would have had us skidding down to Assisi on our derrieres.
After the obligatory truffles on toast (english translation) and a fair swilling on local wine (except for Dave, who has now been sacked from map reading duty and reassigned to driver), we set off for our first lodgings - the magical Castello di Petroia (http://www.castellodipetroia.com), complete with obligatory Count.
I sense I'm rambling, we've only been in Italy 4 hours and I've already filled up two sections of my report. I'll try not to describe every toilet break from now on....
#9
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Apologies for the pause, I had to go meet friends down the pub. I'm now at work with a slight hangover and cravings for bacon sandwiches (ooh red wine on an empty stomach), so please excuse the typos.
So, back to the castle and the Count. We arrive in utter darknes to this remote, eery 11th century castle (birthplace of the Duke of Urbino with the very hooked nose as painted by, I think from memory, Piero della Francesco). The castle sits high amongst the forest covered hills, and literally glows in the distance.
The gate is shut, the only life around is a cat. It's like a film set from an old Dracula movie. A shadowy figure appears, actually it's the Count , who doesn't look the least like Peter Cushing, who ushers us into the dining room for a drink.
A large party is in full swing, with all the guests sat around a large dining table. I get cornered by a rather drunk lady from Brighton who tells me about 18 times how amazing the food is, how wonderful the Count is etc. Guess we'll be joining them for dinner tomorrow then.
The rooms are great, simple, elegant, an iron bed that stands about 4 feet of the floor, I feel like a small child climbing in. It doesn't feel at all like a hotel, I feel like a guest at an aristocratic weekend party. I was destined for this life. My parents clearly swapped me at birth.
Back soon
Lady Catherine x
So, back to the castle and the Count. We arrive in utter darknes to this remote, eery 11th century castle (birthplace of the Duke of Urbino with the very hooked nose as painted by, I think from memory, Piero della Francesco). The castle sits high amongst the forest covered hills, and literally glows in the distance.
The gate is shut, the only life around is a cat. It's like a film set from an old Dracula movie. A shadowy figure appears, actually it's the Count , who doesn't look the least like Peter Cushing, who ushers us into the dining room for a drink.
A large party is in full swing, with all the guests sat around a large dining table. I get cornered by a rather drunk lady from Brighton who tells me about 18 times how amazing the food is, how wonderful the Count is etc. Guess we'll be joining them for dinner tomorrow then.
The rooms are great, simple, elegant, an iron bed that stands about 4 feet of the floor, I feel like a small child climbing in. It doesn't feel at all like a hotel, I feel like a guest at an aristocratic weekend party. I was destined for this life. My parents clearly swapped me at birth.
Back soon
Lady Catherine x
#10
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Aah Italy. We awake to glorious sunshine and panoramic views of the Appenines. Tamara is now very excited as she's just spotted a swimming pool in the grounds. I should probably point out at this stage that this will not be an intensive sightseeing trip, as apart from Tamara (who's frankly more interested in shopping for boots than studying frescoes - 14 pairs at the last count), the rest of us have all been to Italy many times, including the educational bit as art students (there's a story there about how I first fell in love with Florence at 17 via a brief liaison with an Italian Art student at the Accademia. Aaah Giovanni! Anyway, another time perhaps).
Frankly, we all want a relaxing break. But still, off to Assisi.
Gosh, I'm stunned about the Basilica of St Francis I've always wanted to see the Giottos there but never expected such a grand spectacle. I guess I always thought any memorial to St Francis would be a little more humble, as befits the man in question. It IS beautiful, but I'm particularly impressed with the crypt. I left feeling like I'd visited the tomb of the second Messiah. Very moving, particularly as I'm an atheist.
Is it lunchtime?
My God the Italians have got it sussed. Pure food, great wine, weather, history, architecture, art, countryside, a month of in August, siestas, beautiful people. Even their meagre breakfasts fit in with my daily pattern throw a coffee down yer neck and smoke a cigarette on the way to work. My kinda people. Perhaps the Count will adopt me. He did say his son wasn't interested in carrying on the family business.
Frankly, we all want a relaxing break. But still, off to Assisi.
Gosh, I'm stunned about the Basilica of St Francis I've always wanted to see the Giottos there but never expected such a grand spectacle. I guess I always thought any memorial to St Francis would be a little more humble, as befits the man in question. It IS beautiful, but I'm particularly impressed with the crypt. I left feeling like I'd visited the tomb of the second Messiah. Very moving, particularly as I'm an atheist.
Is it lunchtime?
My God the Italians have got it sussed. Pure food, great wine, weather, history, architecture, art, countryside, a month of in August, siestas, beautiful people. Even their meagre breakfasts fit in with my daily pattern throw a coffee down yer neck and smoke a cigarette on the way to work. My kinda people. Perhaps the Count will adopt me. He did say his son wasn't interested in carrying on the family business.
#11
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And so to dinner back at the castle. Lard dons a natty little lace number. I think she's got her sights set on dazzling the Count in the hope of doing an Anna Nicole Smith number on him. However, she'll have to fight Tamara, who's already happily promised to dump her boyfriend (Dave the mapreader) should the opportunity arise.
For dinner, there's only us 4, the Count and a couple from San Francisco, who become increasingly bemused at our drinking capacity, need for cigarette breaks, and outlandish travel related stories ("Your friend Dave, is he an actor?" "No, just a show-off"). They are particularly amused by Lard's recollections of eating dog curry in Vietnam - not by the dog curry, just the idea that anyone would want to holiday in "Narm". 5 courses, severable bottles of wine, a liberal tasting of the Countessa's homebrew liquer and 26 euros later, we stagger to bed (some 3 hours after the San Frans have retired).
Tomorrow it's Florence, but I'm coming back here one day, if the Count will have us back.
For dinner, there's only us 4, the Count and a couple from San Francisco, who become increasingly bemused at our drinking capacity, need for cigarette breaks, and outlandish travel related stories ("Your friend Dave, is he an actor?" "No, just a show-off"). They are particularly amused by Lard's recollections of eating dog curry in Vietnam - not by the dog curry, just the idea that anyone would want to holiday in "Narm". 5 courses, severable bottles of wine, a liberal tasting of the Countessa's homebrew liquer and 26 euros later, we stagger to bed (some 3 hours after the San Frans have retired).
Tomorrow it's Florence, but I'm coming back here one day, if the Count will have us back.
#15
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#20
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You're right, like so many things in my life (tax returns, the washing up) I started and never finished. Mainly because there didn't appear to be much interest in my saga, but I'm happy to continue after the new year if people want me to?
Maybe then I can also fill you in in how I survived the hogmanay in Edinburgh. Or didn't survive, depending on how things go.
Maybe then I can also fill you in in how I survived the hogmanay in Edinburgh. Or didn't survive, depending on how things go.