We love it when our guests contribute to our blog! Here's a very special posting about Martha and Wally's journey to Florence- enjoy!
If you ask me, the Italian land transportation system takes a backseat to no one's. But as it came time to say goodbye to Rick and Bonnie and their beautiful home-away-from-home, Aisling 1, we found ourselves a bit stumped on transportation. How does one get from Vieste, perched on the tip of Puglia's northernmost region, the Promontorio del Gargano, to Florence, nearly 700 kilometers away in little under two days when the nearest train station and airport are three hours away? Not a problem, according to our enterprising and charming marina host, Caterina, a re-located Torontonian, cum travel-guide, who together with her husband, own and operate the welcoming Centro Ormeggi marina in Vieste where we were moored.
Road Trip - Foggia offered the nearest train station, but a 3 a.m. bus ride was just not on, as far as Wally was concerned. A rental car was the answer. With Rick behind the wheel of our Fiat Panda, channeling Mario Andretti, Wally riding shotgun, and Bonnie and me in the back seat holding on, the lush, dense forest of the Gargano whizzed by, giving way to hairpin curves, mountain top villages, and rolling hills that eventually spilled onto the plains surrounding Foggia.
After our day of whistle stop touring of two of Europe's most important pilgrimage sites - Monte Sant'Angelo and San Giovanni Rotondo - it was time to say arrivederci. Waving goodbye to Rick and Bonnie, I knew the night ahead was going to be a long one when the only place to have a meal within walking distance with four pieces of luggage, was the McDonald's, located conveniently, inside the train station.
Don't Throw Momma from the Train - As the Lonely Planet writes, there's little to detain one in Foggia besides the 12-century cathedral. Though I missed that gem, a stroll along the viale 24 maggio whiled away some time and provided a different sort of entertainment. I came upon a park several blocks up from the train station, where old men sat side by side on benches, listening to classical music pouring out of their portable radios, young teenagers zoomed in and around the benches on skateboards, and kerchiefed young mothers pushed baby carriages. Window shopping on the way back to the train station, I wove in and out among the crowds of couples and families that jammed the street, which is fairly typical on a Sunday evening in Italy, I'm told. And like most places, there were plenty of wily-looking men selling purses, belts and cheap trinkets neatly laid out on blankets near the curbside.
Long after McDonald's closed, our train pulled out promptly at 11 p.m. It wasn't too long, after we were tucked into our six seat overnight compartment filled to capacity - no 1st class travel tonight - that I discovered the Dance of the Twelve Legs. Unlike the Dance of the Seven Veils, where Salomé removes six of the seven veils throughout her seductive dance, there was nothing sexy about twelve legs vying for comfort in a very small space. As one sleeper turned from one side to the other, an unrestrained rhythm of moving legs in search of comfort began, only to be repeated at intervals, throughout the night. After five hours of gentle snoring and leg shuffling, not to mention bobbing necks, our pulling into Bologna to change trains was a welcome relief.
One Good Turn Deserves Another - Though it does not rival the grandeur and elegance of Milan's train station, Bologna Centrale, designed and built in the late 1800's, is architecturally beautiful. Yet an ultra modern, chrome-and-glass public washroom seemed stark and surprising inside this stately building, especially as one needed a Euro at the ready to gain entry through one of the several turnstiles.
Waiting on our track for the 5:15 a.m. train to Florence, we made small chat with hand signals and smiles with a young man travelling to Livorno. He spoke no English, we spoke no Italian. Glancing up at the nearby monitor, I discovered our train was delayed, first by a half hour, then almost by an hour. I found our Livorno-bound friend on the next bench down to confirm this fact, and he seemed at once thankful then peeved knowing he was going to probably miss his connection to Livorno.
As the sky over Bologna brightened, I caught glimpses of the red-brick rooftops of medieval Bologna - what a tease not to be able to tour this city. While Wally was immersed in his e-book, I had been blissing-out on the sounds of birds and the waking city. Neither of us had noticed that the track number for our train had changed. With ten minutes to go, our new best friend conveyed the new track number to us, and with a mad dash down and up flights of stairs and a long hallway, we caught our train, with not a minute to spare. Waving good bye to our new friend, we were thankful for the kindness of strangers.
Pontes, Piazzas, & Palazzos - Florence at 7 o'clock in the morning is heaven. Ensconced in the back of a taxi we glided through the empty streets, catching sight of the red domed Duomo, the Uffizi Palace, and the Ponte Vecchio as we crossed the Ponte alle Grazie and gave thanks. Hotel Silla, our home for the next 23 hours, was just around the corner on Via dei Renai. We hungrily tucked into the all-you-could-eat hot and cold breakfast buffet on the hotel's terrace. Feeling restored by the delicious food, the sweet smells of honeysuckle, and copious cappuccini, we were ready to take on the city.
Although museums are closed on Mondays, we had no trouble filling our day with architectural and historical wonders. A 15 minute walk from our hotel, the Palazzo de Vecchio in the Piazza della Signoria captivated us for the morning. One of the most important buildings in Florence, it was the seat of government from the 14th century on, home to Cosimo I de Medici, and still serves as city hall. So many gorgeous interior decorative elements to really appreciate in less than three hours, we drank in frescoed ceilings, textured wallpapers, grand halls, and glorious paintings, statues and an exquisite view of the Arno River from a terrace on the 3rd floor. But our favourites were the Donatello statue (mine), and the Sala delle Carte Geographiche (Wally's) which displays many maps of the world as the Florentines knew it in the 1500's.
The Duomo was impressive. Its massive size and Gothic architecture takes one's breath away. We decided to pass on climbing the 414 steps of Giotto's Campanile tower next door, as we weren't eager to put their ticket counter sign relinquishing all responsibility for those with heart conditions, to the test. We happily discovered the Tuscan Wine School on our walk back to the hotel whereupon Maurizio Colia, one of the owners, and a Master of Wine candidate, invited us back that afternoon to an extraordinary two hour tasting class on Tuscan wines. Following a lovely dinner at a 'touristy' restaurant with one of the best views of the Ponte Vecchio, it was time to wander back to Hotel Silla to pack up, sleep for a few hours then head for home.
Whizzing through Firenze at dawn once again, this time headed for Florence's airport - which is gorgeous, compact and very modern - we tried to memorize the sweeping views of red brick rooftops, rolling hills dotted with tall Cyprus trees and narrow, ancient streets. But with a final cappuccino at the tiny but so efficient café at the airport, it was time to say ciao bella to her planes, trains and automobiles and much, much more.