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Part 1

Tuscany

After yet another hectic day at work, which meant that my chances of getting off early were just about nil. I left base as usual at just before 5. I had at least packed the night before, and so, just needed a shower, get my bags together, and head off to Mum’s as she was cooking for me tonight. She spoilt me by cooking roast beef and all the usual stuff. And then, it was me, and the open road. I was flying from Heathrow, which if you don’t know is on the M25, which is the circular road that rings London, and needless to say, it was very busy indeed. But the trip down was fine, I had the big game on the radio, and the miles flew by. I was staying at a hotel that Wednesday night, and after eventually finding a parking space, dumping my bags in one of the hundreds of identical rooms, I thought I should have a beer. Or two. As fitting a hotel near an airport, the bar was very cosmopolitan, with Aussie accents being the loudest. As usual. So, off to bed early. No, really. And an early start on the morrow.

After recent experiences at the airport of queues from hell. The average on the American and British Airways desks was well over an hour. So, imagine my surprise of the queue at the AlItalia desk. One person. So, being there three hours early, plenty of time for retail therapy. I picked up a couple of books, a Bill Bryson one, and one by a Brit called Tom Sharpe. So, Bill Bryson and I whiled the hours away until the flight was called to board. One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the stampede in which everyone tries to get on board at the same time, and be first to sit.

I had an aisle seat, so no hurry. So, carried on reading. I also knew that it was against FAA rules for a plane to fly with the luggage of someone who was not on the plane. In other words, it was going nowhere without me. Walking on the plane, I noticed the two women in front of me were on the same tour as I, and so I struck up conversation with them.

There were both in their late 50’s, sisters, and both widowed within four months of each other. One, Anne, was from Leeds, where they both grew up, and the other, Denise, had moved down to Buckingham. So, we chatted throughout the flight, and marvelled at the in flight catering: One stale ham roll, and a boiled sweet. And the in-flight staff did not look happy. The reason, we found out, was that the airline had gone bust, and they were all out of a job the next day. And we were without an airline to get home in 12 days time. Still, stuck in Italy, not all bad news, is it?

There was chaos at Rome airport, as we could not find the guide, and people from the tour wandered around looking confused. Seems like we came out the wrong door from customs. So, we were directed to the coach, loaded up the bags and took our seats. Not much to tell of the trip to Tuscany, just traffic jams around Rome, clear blue skies, fields filled with olives and vines. And fields and fields of sunflowers. But, they were all gone to seed, but it did not take much imagination to see them all in bloom, in the sun. And a lot of the local art featured these sunflowers.

Tuscany started as soon as we left the autostrada, green fields, Cyprus trees, and terracotta tiled houses everywhere. And topping hills, were walled villages and towns, whilst the valleys were newly ploughed. The hillsides were filled with olive trees and vines, all full of ripe grapes, just about ready to harvest.

We were staying in a town called Chianciano Terme, a spar town, spit into two, and old part, walled and on a promontory, and a new part, where all the hotels were. Which is where we were, of course. The hotel was fine, and friendly. With the exception of the barmaid/tender, who was a Romanian who had been told she had to leave as the holiday season was coming to an end. With the result she was trying her best to bring everyone down to her level of sadness. She also failed to add half our drinks to our room bills, we guessed as a way of getting back at the owners.

Mealtimes were a little canteen-like. With the aim of getting us through as soon as possible, but the food was very good, always hot, and we were always offered more. Which was a difference to the supposedly better hotel on the Amalfi coast where we were to spend the second week. But, a few of decided to stay in the bar, and brave the frostiness form behind the bar. But it was hard, and she glared at any laughter of fun.

The Wednesday, a short trip was planned to two local towns, Pienza and Montepulciano. Only 14 of us decided to go on the trip, and we left at a relaxed time of half ten, in a heavy drizzle. Pienza was a small town, walled and on a hill, rebuilt by Pope Pious the second to be a utopia on earth. A palace there was modelled on one in Florence, on a piazza next to an imposing white church. The town itself was quite small, but the ramparts had imposing views across the countryside, and over the winding road leading up to it. The 500-year-old houses held coffee shops, salami and cheese shops, along with wonderful herb shops. All giving the town a wonderful smell. I bought several bags of herbs, and headed off to record the town with my camera. They were filming an historic program for Italian TV when we were there, and there were banners and flags hanging everywhere, adding to the atmosphere of the town.

Once were back on the coach, the guide said she knew of a place, that did tastings of local salamis, cheeses and wines, and for a small price, would we like to go there? Of course we did. It was next to a wonderful church, under the town walls of Montepulciano. When I say it was next to the church, it was in fact under it, in the crypt, or next to it. And it had views over the valley, which added to the feel of the place. The food was wonderful, as so was the wine. And the speciality was a desert wine called Vino Santo. Into which, one dipped biscuits.

Not as bad as it sounds, very good in fact. So good we all bought a bottle, and dipping biscuits. The town itself was a large place; with a winding road leading from the town gates, and twisting it’s way up to the town piazza. Once again, the shops were of the Tuscan mix of cheese, salami, wine and art galleries. The weather was still grey, but it did not detract from the town at all. One thing I will mention here is that Italy is such a chic place, full of style. Which makes the state of Italian plumbing all the more of a surprise, and the visit to a coffee shop here a real adventure. The toilet itself was just two enamel footprints over a hole in the floor. I will draw a discreet veil over the mechanics of using this, but, if nothing else, it was an experience. Note to self; go before leaving hotel. Twice.

We had an uneventful trip back to the hotel, in plenty of time to get ready for the evening meal. As the atmosphere in the bar was so bad, a few of us decided to head into the town, to what else there was to do. We found a bar, which spread out onto the side of the road. And they had a karaoke going on. What struck us, was that there were very few young people there, but those that were, were sat with their families. Something that would be unheard of in England. We had a good time, people watching, and trying to guess what songs they were singing. But, what was clear, was that they were singing folk songs, in a traditional manor, or as traditional as it could be with a synthesiser and a computer.