il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno quattro

Day Four…ROAD TRIP!

Today’s the day we hit the road to see a little bit of the surrounding countryside. Our guide today is Alessia and she comes along with a driver, Mario. We head south out of town, through some of the more suburban parts of Florence; we get a glimpse into more of the everyday neighborhoods—apartment buildings, car washes, laundromats.

Soon we are on the freeway headed to Siena. The countryside looks just like you might imagine the Italian countryside to look—rolling hills covered with fields of sunflowers, grapevines, or olive trees. Cypress trees punctuate the landscape, and just about every hilltop is crowned by a villa. There are, of course, more modern going concerns along the way—auto dealerships, gas stations, and stores called “Coop” which look like they might be like a Wal-Mart or Costco.

Eventually we arrive at Siena, a beautiful Tuscan city that is also a designated World Heritage Site. Here we meet our local guide, Cristina, who is a native of the city. Like many Tuscan cities, Siena is a hill town, and Cristina has us marching up narrow, steep streets.

Siena is also known for its traditional horse races, called Palio, dating back to the 1600s. Twice each summer, different districts, or contrade, sponsor a horse and rider in a breakneck race around the public square, known as the Campo. When we see the Campo, it’s hard to imagine that upwards of 25,000 people cram into such a small area.

From the Campo, we walk over to the Duomo. It looks like a wedding cake or maybe Barbie’s DreamHouse Duomo. Inside is even more spectacular, with columns of tiered marble, floors decorated with inlaid marble, and a library with the most elaborately frescoed walls and ceiling. One wall is hung with plaques and silver hearts and assorted objects like baby bibs and motorcycle helmets, all given in thanks for prayers answered. It reminds me that these glorious, historic cathedrals are still very much workaday churches for the people who live there.

After Siena, we travel to a local winery for lunch. Fattoria La Tancia is a family-run business, apparently, and like everything else I’ve seen so far, looks just exactly how you would expect a family-run Italian winery to look. It’s a lovely, sunny day, and we sit on the terrace under an awning. Lunch is simple, but delicious—bruschetta, pasta arrabiata, and salumi e formaggio—along with several bottles of wines to sample. We end the meal with cantucci (what we call biscotti) that we dip into glasses of vin santo, a sweet dessert wine.

At one point, they bring out grandma to sit in the shade outside, and she looks just exactly like you would expect a little Italian nonna to look. Florence starts serenading the grandmother (who, we are told, has poor eyesight and hearing) with a rousing version of Que Sera Sera (and having just gotten to know Florence a little bit, this is exactly what I would expect Florence to do. By day four, I’ve gotten used to it.); Nonna reacts by clamping her hands over her ears. Really, when you are old and Italian, I think you are allowed to dispense with politeness.

We are full and sleepy, but we have miles still to go, so we say goodbye and climb back into the van (did I mention that it is a Mercedes-Benz van? Because that’s how we roll.). Now it’s off to San Gimignano, an ancient Etruscan town that still has many of its medieval towers standing. On the outskirts, the driver pulls over to let us take some photos; it’s like a picture postcard.

The town itself is small, with one main street leading to an open piazza. The street is lined with shops, mostly catering to tourists, and the street is full of tourists. In many ways, it reminds me of a village in Door County, say, Fish Creek or Sister Bay. You have the cute boutiques selling art or jewelry or ice cream or gourmet foods. But the scenery, oh, the scenery. I walk to the Ponte Panoramico (the “Panoramic Bridge”) and look over the beautiful rolling hills of Tuscany. Nearby, under a yellow sunshade, a guitarist plays gypsy jazz. I can picture myself living here.

Back to the hotel in the late afternoon, and we rest up before heading out for dinner. It’s typical to eat dinner late here—no earlier than 7:30 p.m., and true locals sometimes even wait until after 8:30 p.m. Alessia has given us several recommendations, and we end up at Trattoria ZaZas, near San Lorenzo. I throw caution to the wind and order pappardelle al cinghiale, which is pasta with wild boar sauce. Yep, that’s right. Wild. Boar. As in pig. Now some of you will be shocked to learn that I, known to avoid most pork products, would choose such a dish, but you know what? I’m in Italy. And part of traveling means stepping outside of your usual habits. Besides, I’ve eaten haggis, so what could be so bad? I can tell you that cinghiale pretty much tastes like roast pork. So there.

In the piazza, there are several cafes, all with outdoor seating, so it feels lively and fun. A strolling gypsy band walks by and plays music for everyone. I’m surprise, though, when one of the musicians walks around the tables and holds out a cup for tips. Not that I mind giving a little money, but it just seems very bold. Still, it’s a lovely evening, and we have fun watching what looks like a bachelorette dinner across from us.