Can we spontaneously take an organized tour? One surprising part of this adventure, is the fact that after 25 years married, and another of living in sin, preceded by a year of dating, Nancy and I have been thrust into a situation where we are learning new things about each other. We’ve never done anything like this. Our years together have rarely yielded much more than a long weekend, though we do those often. Sure we did the obligatory, take the kids to Disney week, and a couple of island, all inclusives along the way, but a true vacation adventure…nope, never. We’ve never met the challenge of negotiating train stations, shipping ports, undergrounds, trams and the like, in areas where English is not the primary language, often carting way too much luggage (I think that is the second time I’ve mentioned way too much luggage). And we have never had to deal with challenges such as the couple of times we were actually kinda scared, so very far from home. And the biggest one we discovered about the two of us on a great adventure was the fact that I am a directionless wanderer and Nancy likes a bit more structure. I can gaze for an hour at an interesting piece of history, contemplating the three paragraph plaque that is stuck to an adjacent stick. Nancy prefers knowing what is next and appreciates an expert that she trusts to be pointing us in a direction. And in typical male fashion, I will wander about a train station for days trying to figure out where the hell I am supposed to be, while Nancy efficiently seeks out someone who speaks English to get advice. We’ve been romantically linked for 27 years, and known each other for 10 years previous to that, and we’ve never got to know each other under these circumstances. If you haven’t yet discovered how to get through the fray with your partner, this could be a bad thing. But if you have, the discovery can be delightful. We had snapped and shot each other a few glances along the way. A torrid pace and long days can invite exhausted attitudes, and it was never any more than a quick remark, forgotten even quicker, followed by a held and hand and unspoken apology, usually a squeeze from that held hand. Tried and true tolerance and forgiveness skills can turn stress into serendipity. Friday was exactly one of those days. We were up by seven and at breakfast by eight. The Casci puts out a wonderful little european breakfast. The staff will make you fresh brewed espresso or cappuccino, that is to die for, or they will try their darndest to not look judgmental when you want an ‘American coffee.’ We wolfed down fresh fruit, salami and prosciutto (confession….I had to look up how to spell that), with home made croissants (almost had to look that up but got lucky on my first stab) with pate. I was downing the last of my orange juice when I said, “C’mon. We have a 15 minute walk and we have to be there by 8:45.” We, or I should say, I had booked a guide to take us through Ufizzi. “It’s only 8:15.” Nancy was savoring her pate, one of her favorite things ever, and her cup of cap was still steaming through its froth. My brilliant deductive skills kicked in. “You don’t want to go on this tour? Because if you don’t…” “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to rush and miss out on this breakfast.” She sipped from her cup. “We can leave in ten minutes.” My enthusiasm for looking at history, had trumped her moment of european breakfast bliss. It was unthinking of me. I was like a kid at Christmas. She was like the parent in bed Christmas morning telling her kid at 3 am, that Santa doesnt come for another couple hours, so chill out and go to sleep. She sensed a weakness. But she didn’t play the card until we were walking towards the Ufizzi. “Did you talk to Pierre about the sunset Vinyard tour?” I wasn’t fast on my feet at all. “Uhhhhh…No.” Brilliant. A vineyard tour was high on her list. The day before at check in, Pierre had tried to sell us the Ufuzzi tour and the vineyard tour, but I needed to get the lay of the land. I went back later and scored Ufizzi. I figured we’d play the vineyard tour by ear. Oops. There I go expecting that everyone likes to be a wanderer. We met our guide after leaving our hotel at 8:30. We were there before anyone else. We secured first in line spots. Then I proceeded to watch a dozen groups pass us and go in because one of the parties in our group showed up late. While waiting we got to know our guide. She was British, but fluently spoke to passersby in Italian, German, French and Chinese. She was gruff and to the point, with long silver hair, pulled back in a loosely configured bun piled on her head. She walked with a cane and spoke with loud and clear British confidence. And, she called everyone ‘love.’ She distributed our earpieces. “Can you he-yah me loves?” She laid down the rules. Amongst those rules was instruction for going through the metal detectors. “Remove yo-ah belts, but please not your pants, my loves.” I explained that I was quite disappointed with that rule. She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I see we have a trouble makah in ow-ah ranks!” She pointed at Nancy. “Is he yours?” Her deep voice ending the sentence an octave higher. Nancy put on her best woe-be-gone look. She sighed. “Unfortunately, yeah. But at least he’s cute.” “That, my love, is good for a few minutes, I suppose. I shall be forced to keep an eye on him.” She tapped me in the chest with an old collapsable umbrella, and winked. Everyone was mic’ed…and laughed. Nancy had found a friend. The grey-haired lady with the quick wit, it turned out, is a curator at the Galleria degli Uffizi, the world’s first collection of art, put into a publicly accessible museum. She was charged, some years ago, with cataloging and categorizing every piece of art that is displayed in the gallery. Or as she put it, “I worked my ass off for nine months straight.” She does tours because she is a retired professor and she misses teaching. Her name is Rosalie. Rosalie is a brilliant historian, and an excellent lecturer. She explained the rise of the Familia Medici, and how the Ufizzi was once the banking family’s business offices. The art in the Gallery was their private collection, until the family line ran out of direct male heirs and the entire lot was bequeathed to the people of Florence, making the Ufizzi the world first art gallery open to the general public. Rosalie apologized for the museum being as crowded as it was on this morning. She seemed to be annoyed by the fact that a large convention in town had influenced the museum to relax their usually strict rule limiting the numbers of viewers in the museum at any given time. It was obvious that the works in this grand building were her babies, as she reminded anyone who was taking photos with a flash to not do so in order to protect the priceless pieces. We walked a chronology that took us through the end of the gothic period, when ‘round the clock piety ruled, and women did not have souls. This period’s one dimensional art came from a time when it was sinful to contemplate the realness of the world. Walking from that period into the Renaissance, we viewed and learned the historical significance of the master, Giotto, whose Portrait of Dante is considered one of the first ever works of the Renaissance Period. We viewed works by Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Botticelli, and the realism that marked an age that was deciding that it was not only alright, but essential to celebrate our lives and our relationships with each other, as well as with our God, with art that represented a world as it actually is. I was enthralled, but my highlight was standing in front of Bottocelli’s, Birth of Venus. We have been off and on enjoying communication with several friends, via online messaging, who have been following our trip. We’ve received tips and ideas from friends far more experienced than we are, when it comes to traveling this part of the world. Our friend Midge, a brilliant neighbor and friend, had sent a a brief note telling us how she found The Birth of Venus, exceptionally moving. Nancy and Midge have many common interests, and I know my wife looks up to her. So as our group arrived at Bottecelli’s most recognizable work, I noticed that Nancy has forged slightly ahead of us and she is already examining the painting. I looked at the work as well, beautiful indeed. But what moved me about this work, is how it moved Nancy. Her gaze was intense. I could see her eyes darting about the landscape, examining the winds, piecing together the characters that told the oil-painted story. She was deep into it. She studied for awhile as I stood back and watched her study. When she finally broke free of the painting, she turned and walked to me. Silently, she grabbed my hand and we began negotiating through the crowd, looking for the tattered travel umbrella that Rosalie would hold above her head, as a beacon, gathering our group. She squeezed my hand, leaned into me and whispered, “Midge was right. That was pretty cool.” Nancy wore an emotional look on her face. Trudging through a crowded art museum was not her first choice. But she had found a way to connect, and more than anything, she had done that for me. I figured I’d better find us a vineyard tour. Pierre to the rescue!! We returned to Casci. We were going to change and get some lunch. The fine staff at our hotel was informed that we were looking for something that afternoon. By the time we had changed, they had several options for us at the front desk. We opted for a two winery, one castle, dinner in Sienna expedition that, as it was explained to us, would begin with a cab picking us up at 1:50, and get us back to our room to prepare and rest for our first leg home, to London, early the next morning We had an hour and a half to grab a bite; not a difficult task to do in Florence. We headed down the street in a direction we had yet traveled, and found a great little spot next to a small square that seemed to be lined with businesses catering to local needs. Lunch, of course, was delicious. The taxi took us to a bus, we wound through the city, squeezing the immense bus through tiny roads and intersections. The vehicular acrobatics made me note that cars waiting at red lights always sit back from the intersection a good 75’ in order to afford busses and trucks the latitude to make the wide turns needed to keep building corners from being smashed. The Tuscan countryside is breathtaking. The Apennine Mountains, an ancient range much older than the Alps, have the shape and profile much like that of our own east coast Catocin Mountains, but less forested. There are great stands of conifers, mostly cypress, but they frame mass expanses of open, steeply sloped rocky soil. With great drainage and proper exposures, these are the hills that define the taste of the Sangiovese grape, the cornerstone of the fine Chianti and other wine that comes from this part of the world (which, I might add, is a supply that we put a considerable dent in, while here). Sweeping switchbacks led us up and down individual members of this range, revealing more spectacular views at each turn. The first stop was at Azienda Agricola Poggio Amorelli Di Minutella Adriana, or as I call it, Mike’s Place. Michael, the owner of this small farmhouse winery guides us through his facilities and a tasting that included 5 wines, two truffle oils and two balsamics. we tasted, learned and ate cheeses and meats and breads. Michael, of course, was as handsome as any woman would wish an owner of a vineyard to be. We sat with two single women from Connecticut. Suffice it to say my job was to make sure none of my three lady companions drooled on the table. The offerings here are labeled Poggio Amorelli. We loved the Oracolo, a blend of three grapes, the primary, of course, being the Sangiovese. We scored a bottle to bring home and keep for a special occasion. Our second stop, a Castle wine shop of the Monte Chiaro vineyard where we tasted a 100% Malyasia Nera wine, made from a grape grown at only two vineyards in the world. Affordable, a bottle of Arteliquida Rosso Malvasia Nera will be coming home with us too. That one probably won’t last until the ‘special occasion’ comes along. We drove into Siena for a dinner. We toured streets, that were similar, but less crowded that Florence, on our way to our restaurant. The sun had set and the town glowed under incandescent street light, a soft brown. We twisted and turned through a half mile of streets, stopping occasionally for a bit of narrated history from our guide. She walked us down a short street, seemingly into a dead end. The far ark end of the street looked of nothing but a low archway. We continued to that arch. Steep steps let us to a dark tunnel. Through that passageway another set of steps led up to the night sky. But at the top of those steps our angle changed. As each person on the tour reached the top, you could hear them gasp. Past the second archway, the world opened up to the most beautiful Piazza we had seen for the whole trip. Piazza de Campo is the heart of public things in Siena. Its two football fields across. Paved in concentric rows of red and gold brick, Its perimeter sits high, sloping to the Piazza center, like a gently elegant bowl. City offices flank one side of the square, featuring a monolithic clock tower that stands stoically over the scene. Tonight, it was a party. The seventeen district of Siena have a twice yearly horse race in the square, each district allowed one horse. The winner gets to declare their pride in that square with a parade. We watched that parade. Drums beat and district fight songs were sung. Young men in colorful neck scarves danced along with the parade. There was much hooting and dancing and many faces sporting huge smiles. We dined. It was our last full day of our trip without travel. We held hands on this perfect night, in this perfect square, under this perfect sky. We had our finest personal moment of the trip. It was the culmination of an adventure where we lived, laughed, loved, and most significantly learned, not just about places, but about each other. For as spectacular as were the visions we experienced, it was a journey about us. Another chance for us to learn. Another chance to struggle and overcome. Another chance to find joy. And best of all, a chance to again feel what is like to fall in love again for the very first time. This adventure, that began with dreams of discovery and places so far off, is still one that is given meaning to us by what is so familiar, so close to our hearts. The places, it turns out, with their grandeur and wonderfulness, a beautiful stage on which for a fleeting moment our hearts were allowed to dance; where we were to find avenues leading to new friends, and paths to love old ones more truly. And to us, the journey was a full circle, leading us where we have always been meant to be; walking through life together. A very special thank you to Nigel and Nancy, without whom we’d have never even thought to do this. We love you so very much. Thanks to our kids for keeping our animals safe while we have been gone. We love you very much. And thanks to those of you who followed along. We love you very much. And finally, we severely missed you Jimmy and Yvette. Our adventure together is yet to come. Much love to you, our special friends… Love, Jack and Nancy
Posted on: Mon, 06 Oct 2014 00:48:27 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015