On our last morning in Rome, we put on our Human Race shirts and took a run by Vatican City, our third visit to the sovereign nation in four days. We got to see people milling about and crowding together for the Pope’s Wednesday visit. Breakfast was pastries and cappuccino (for Brandi) and orange juice (for Daniel) at a little café near our hotel. We spent the rest of the morning shopping, and Brandi got a Morellato watch. And Daniel is an awesome husband for entertaining my need to shop and buy a nice anniversary gift.
The train to Florence was nice and relaxing. The signs and staff at the train station tell you that there are no porters and not to let anyone take your bags, but once we got on the train there was someone offering to find a place for our large suitcase, and he had basically taken it and put it up before I had a chance to refuse (it was actually fairly helpful, though). The dumb move on my part was letting him put up my backpack, which allowed him to ask for an extra euro in tip.
We were seated next to a couple Australian girls who were doing a three-week tour of Europe. They had about half our luggage. Daniel commented to me that he thought they probably hadn’t brought their 1800 watt hair dryer and diffuser on the trip. But I am still pretty proud of myself for filling only one suitcase for 8 days. The Italian countryside was very beautiful, and we crossed through a number of tunnels as well.
Florence is different than Rome, but the same. You see many of the same types of buildings, but it is much smaller, more laid back, and easier to navigate than Rome. I left Rome after four days still pretty unable to get my bearings, but Florence felt pretty comfortable after a couple hours. Streets that run north-south and east-west are a sight for sore eyes. Immediately when we arrived in Florence I realized that this was going to be the more relaxing part of our vacation and I knew immediately I was going to love Florence.
Brandi had mentioned on the train that we might want to go to Siena that night, which sounded fun but a little quick to be going to a new city. But with nothing planned for the evening, we headed back to the train station after dropping our bags at the hotel and grabbing a quick lunch at a wine bar with, yes, a touch of wine.
The bus to Siena was a little over an hour and took us through some hilly terrain in central Tuscany. Rather than ending up at a station as it had started, the bus dropped most of its passengers on several stops on the outskirts of Siena. We got off at the final stop, unsure of where exactly we were. We started heading downhill, taking in some amazing mountain views along the way, and eventually saw signs pointing us toward Il Campo (the large piazza at the center of town that is the biggest tourist destination) and the Duomo (the big church; actually the name of every town’s big church). The Duomo is a very impressive cathedral, with a mix of different colored marble that is characteristic to the region. Il Campo is one of a million things in Italy that pictures do absolutely no justice.
Siena was even more of a country town than Florence and felt a little sleepier in many ways. This one pottery shop I walked into fit perfect into my idea of what a country store would look like in Italy. The potter was managing the store and let me alone to walk into the different rooms to shop his wares. While I was marveling at the way the shop looked like an old house with almost rounded walls and ceiling made out of stucco, I heard something happening at the front of the shop, and the potter was groaning in Italian as a grey kitten scurried out of homemade pitcher. I couldn’t help myself as I immediately felt like I had to help the guy get this cat out of his shop and I also just wanted to hold a cat from Sienna. I came out of the store with a cat in my hands and I think Daniel thought I was going to ask to take it home with me! I let the cat go and we headed off to dinner.
We decided to eat just off of the piazza, as you usually have to get a little distance away from the touristy areas to find the best food. In the case of the Piazza del Campo, you don’t have to travel very far.
Trattoria la Torre is a tiny family restaurant that occupies a single room. As we walked in, the son was in the corner making fresh pasta while dad was serving customers and mom walked us to our seats. The dad came up to us to take our order---he started rattling off six or so pastas, and then just looked at us. I asked for a menu in Italian, and he said, “I am the menu.” After he repeated the choices for me, I got the tagliatella (it came alla Bolognese), and Brandi had the ravioli (filled with cheese in a fresh sage and aioli sauce). The food was out quickly, about two minutes after we ordered, and it was amazing. Pretty much all the pasta we’ve had in Italy has been an order of magnitude fresher than anything we get in the States, but this was something else. We also had a bottle of wine (of course) and finished the meal off with prosciutto and pecorino cheese. This was kind of a weird “dessert” but it just looked so fresh at the table next to us I couldn’t pass it up!
When we arrived, there was one other group eating, plus about eight empty tables. By the time we were close to finishing our meal, the place was packed, and people kept coming in to try and get a table only to be turned away. We felt badly that we were causing these people to lose business, so we asked the owner for a check so we could clear the table. He looked offended: “No, no, finish!” It was so admirable—an Italian cook and restaurateur who was so dedicated to his craft that he won’t fill your seat before he’s ready, even if you volunteer it.
But we did eventually get out, finding our way back to a bus stop and enduring a very bumpy ride back to Florence. We stopped for gelato, which, for me, was the best yet. Panna cotta is like caramel, but they do it as ice cream a million times better than any caramel ice cream I’ve ever had.
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