Woke up at 7 then at 10. Bob and Claire have gone.
An interesting fact about Italian bread – it appears to have no salt. This makes it quite tasteless! The sliced stuff (“Ideal for toasting“) is also a bit sweet and tastes like cake when it’s toasted.
We had coffee/tea on the balcony then walked around the ‘estate’. The place has a rosemary hedge. Extraordinary. The swimming pool is in a lovely scenic spot but just a tad cold for use today!
There were lots of men with shotguns making big bangy noises – I think they were hunting small aquatic mammals called underwater friends but Mirinda tells me these aren’t actually real. It was probably pheasant. Ho hum. On our walk we dropped in and visited Farelli who, like us, had a nice long, well earned sleep.
She had an odd dream about Tuscan earthquakes, saving Mirinda and meetings with scud missiles, which seems to indicate she’s concerned about the impending war, Mirinda and the movement of tectonic plates. Or maybe it was just her bed, I don’t know.
Bob and Claire got back at about 12 bearing pizzas and croissants for lunch.
Bob & Claire had spent the morning in San Gimignano (from here on in called San G) where we wanted to spend the afternoon so Mirinda (bravely) said we’d take the car but Bob was concerned so ended up driving us there. He dropped Farelli, Mirinda and me at the lower part of the city, right by the robot toilet.
We agreed to all meet outside the cathedral at 7:30 with a restaurant booked.
What a gorgeous town. It’s called ‘The town of beautiful towers’ and it is. The guide book spouts a lot of history but I think the final paragraph sums it up:
Today San Gimignano has it’s own personality and is renown world-wide as a town of art, under the protection of UNESCO. But there is more. It’s atmosphere, comparable to that of a large legendary and enchanted castle, awakens in visitors dreams of bygone days and distant places, believed to have vanished, but the existence of which is instead still tangible.
Tea with Mussolini was set in Florence and here (this is where the women are moved to), with make believe Germans flying through the tiny medieval streets.
There are two piazzas which form the central focus of the town and they are joined via an arch. Piazza Duomo is the highest and is fronted by the old cathedral. We went and had a squizz in the Museum of Sacred Art then into the cathedral. What amazing frescos! The whole bible (virtually) is painted on the walls from the creation leading up to the resurrection…OK that’s not the whole bible, but it’s a lot of it! Each of the frescos is a story and they are so beautiful (in Tea with Mussolini, these are what Judi Dench is trying to save). We had fun spotting the stories we knew.
There was one distinctly confusing picture of some dude tied to a stake with a load of archers turning him into a hedgehog. He had the circle round his head and a beard so we naturally assumed it was Christ but none of us remember the ‘trial by having arrows stuck into you’ section of the New Testament. It turned out to be St Sebastien who was used as target practice by someone horrible.
The series with God making man had a cartoon quality that I found appealing. In the first we find God swooping down, fingers first, bursting forth with faint little tracer-like white lines from which emerges a naked and sleeping Adam. The next panel sees Adam standing by the animals seemingly saying to God “Like all this is pretty cool, but I really need someone to…well, I haven’t worked out a name for it yet but watch the horses long enough and you’ll get the idea!“
In the third panel Adam is once more lying down with God looming large over him, fingers again held out. From Adam’s lower rib area, a naked woman is rising out of him. It all looked a bit raunchy as God had not yet invented pubic hair. However, before any more happiness can occur the fourth panel finds God and a few evil looking angels round his feet, showing the couple the door for eating the forbidden fruit. A nice touch in this panel is the artist has Adam & Eve covering themselves with their hands but not having a lot of success. It would have looked silly with the traditional fig leaves.
From the cathedral we went to the Civic Museum which has access to the only tower you can climb – the Grosse Tower. It was a long and windy climb with see-through steps that left you a bit woozy, but at the top it was fabulous. Because San G is on a hill, the addition of a high tower makes for the most amazing views. My apologies for the photograph, however, as the weather was crap!
I was very proud of Mirinda who, despite her fear of heights, managed the climb (particularly the little ladder at the end) to join us at the top. From here you can see the higgledy piggledy streets and rooftops that feature on countless gift shop offerings. There’s a big broken bell up there too. It obviously had the clanger bashed out of it at some stage and was replaced with a working one. I assume the guys who hauled the new one up couldn’t be bothered lowering the old one so it’s just sitting there, prey to graff artists.
There are signs at the bottom of the tower forbidding access during thunderstorms because of lightening strikes and the top of the tower has copper running all over it, presumably to save the bell being struck (again?). The climb down was pretty awful but the views had been worth any vertigo or wobbly legs. Of course Farelli suffered longest with the wobbles as she has such long legs.
From the tower and the museum we stopped at a café for coffee and cake as we decided what to do with the extra two and a half hours we had before Bob and Claire met us. Once we found the main street and it’s bright lights, it was not a problem but as we sat in the café, Mirinda busily planned the revised timings for later expeditions.
As we left the café we were greeted by the arrival of Babba Natale, an old bloke and two lolly laden donkeys. Soon a festive crowd gathered and a marching band appeared seemingly out of nowhere and struck up a few Christmas carols. Now here’s an interesting thing, this band was very good and tuneful and rousing when it played it’s signature tune but inexplicably fell into a heap of ill struck notes when it attempted Silent Night or any other vaguely recognisable song or, in fact, the strange inclusion of Happy Birthday.
Farelli’s perfect pitch was suffering numerous torturous deaths, so we set off for the shops. Lots of pottery, wine and wild boar salami but no kettles or toasters. We found a restaurant in a hotel the name of which translated to ‘Good Day’ so we figured this sounded Australian and inviting so we booked in.
After a good stroll up and down (then up again) the bright but not-very-but-nice-enough-ly crowded streets, we stopped at the Snack Bar for a beer or two, while we waited for Bob and Claire.
At about 7:20 I went out to meet them but was stopped by this rather trendy looking guy and his equally groovy female companion, who asked me, in rather broken Italian, if I knew the way to the Hotel Good Day. They obviously mistook me for a local, what with my swarthy good looks and Roman nose, an obvious and understandable confusion, so I started to answer. I got as far as “Si” and pointed down the street. then I realised I wasn’t actually Italian and had no idea how to say “Just down this road and on your left“. So I interrupted my barely started answer and asked instead “Do you speak English?“.
He suddenly looked relieved and said “Yes!” so I then told him where the hotel was.
“You’re Australian!” he said.
“So are you,” I replied.
He was from Malloolabah and shook me by the hand, saying “I like your work” before drifting off into the night. What lovely people we Aussies are.
I then found Bob and Claire and we all set off for the restaurant, where a scrumptious and very big meal was consumed with an abundance of local wine. I had the wild boar and truffles. Loved the pig, not sure about the fungus.
We decided to try for a shortcut back to the car rather than climbing back up and over the town again. Big mistake! After travelling for a few days through some of the toughest terrain known to Tuscans, we eventually turned back. Without our machetes it was useless.
Of course, the extended walk meant the wine wore off, some of the food was digested and we saw an awful lot of dark San G. Eventually we all piled into the car and Bob drove back through the light rain.
We had a bedtime drink at Farelli’s place then all retired for the night.
Bob and Claire have decided to buy San G.
