We drove out back to the main road, and after filling the tank up, headed north to Siena, for one of the Tuscan jewels. I know how crowded some of the places can be here; and that is why we did not go to Florence. But still, we thought it should not be too crowded this late in September. Sadly, many others had the same idea, and finding somewhere to park was difficult. The second garage we went to seemed to have opened a level, and we found many empty spaces right near the entrance.
Finding our way to Il Campo and the rest of the centre was harder than we thought, and we wandered through many narrow roads with towering mediaeval houses standing shoulder to shoulder on each side.
Soon enough we came to the beginnings of the commercial centre, and around the corner was the main shopping street; lined with the usual Tuscan specialty shops mixed in with the usual fashion houses.
Through an arch on the right I spied the markings of Il Campo, the main city square around which there are horse races several times a year. And gathered all over were groups of tourists clustered around guides clutching brightly coloured umbrellas or some such things to be held up; as people from the whole world did the modern grand tour.
I freely admit to having done such tours in Italy before, and had had the information and history bombarded at my brain too. Much better, I think, to get a guide book and wander the streets to see where your feet would lead.
We found grand churches and cathedrals, palaces, grand houses, narrow alleyways with dark arches to explore; and small cafes and other such wonderful places. All so fantastic, and all the while chic locals sauntered around the only way they know how, all looking cool and confidant.
All roads lead to the Dumo, and so the ever rising paths and alleyways lead us to the grand cathedral. The queues to get in we long as they were legendary; and for the second time I decided not to go inside. We people watched some, and got pictures of the street sellers trying to eek out a living.
Down the steep steps beside the cathedral, there is a passageway leading off, and in that passageway there is a restaurant in a converted church. It is where I had lunch in the city four years ago; and it is where we had lunch on this visit. There were a high concentration of locals, always a good sign I think, and the food really, really good. Julie had toasted rustic bread with melted goat’s cheese and Tuscan honey; which was just wonderful I can tell you; whilst I had the mozzarella with tomatoes again.
We wandered around some more, but decided to head back to the car and then home. I thought about filling the luggage with some such Tuscan ingredients, but thought better of it, and anyway the queues were just horrible.
We drove home via country roads; through deep gorges and through high hilltop towns again. It was just wonderful, and we were just about the only travellers about. From high above the villa, we paused at yet another hilltop town, and were thrilled we could see the afternoon sun glinting of the Aegean Sea between Grossetto and Elba. The air was full of the aroma of herbs after someone had been cutting grass; and sadly, tomorrow, we were heading home.
That night we decided to head out for dinner; it was our last night but had enjoyed our meals on the balcony watching sunsets and the wildlife. Emy had given us a list of places to go, and the best for local traditional food was in Civitella Maritima.
Once night had fallen, we walked out to the car in the fragrant air. I am not one to resort to stereotypes; but Italian drivers can be a little impatient to say the least. As we drove to Roccastrada, there were the usual bright headlights just inches from our back bumper. Even funnier was that soon another tailgater was tailgating him and I could see three bright lights in the rear view mirror. One and then the other zoomed past as we headed up the steep hill to Roccastrada, and we could drive in peace.
The 5Km long roman road to Civitella Maritima was not as hectic, but at least budding race drivers could see to overtake and we chugged our way to the restaurant.
It was chilly in the keen breeze; doubly so high above the plain as we parked the car and headed up the poorly lit narrow alleys and up into the centre of the village. There was a smell of wood smoke in the air, and there were groups of rugged looking farmers outside the café enjoying a smoke and an aperitif.
The restaurant was easy to find; its lights brightening the courtyard on which it stands. We walked in and through the small bar to the room with the tables. A large group sat down one side taking over half the tables; we asked if it was OK to eat there; the waitress already looking stressed by the large numbers already dining said in fractured English that we could eat but there would be a wait.
Her fractured English is better than our fractured Italian, that’s for sure.
Julie had a Tuscan pancake filled with unsmoked bacon and Tuscan sheep’s cheese, cooked so it had a caramelised texture on the outside. I had pumpkin mousse with a creamy sauce which was just divine. Julie followed that with local slow roasted lamb whilst I had minestrone soup. I say soup, as did the menu, but it was more like a solid mash of slow cooked vegetables and stock. It was wonderful.
Sadly, the service was slow; there was an unlimited supply of Tuscan breads and the house read was light and fruity. But we had to be up at half five for the three hour drive to the airport at Pisa. We went without the lemon crème brulee and coffee, much to the waitress’s disappointment. Julie mimed sleeping and flying and she seemed to understand.
Outside it was downright cold, and we could see warm light from many of the tightly packed houses on the way down to the car. At least the drive back was calm with no other cars around, and we arrived back at the villa safe, sound and tired. I finished off the bottle of dessert wine and after checking all drawers for forgotten clothes we headed to bed.
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