Paris and home

My pre-trip research indicated that, although the TGV (train grand
vitesse, or bullet train) had limited luggage capacity we could take
the bikes (in cases) to the train station the day after we got to
Geneva, and they'd arrive in Paris before we left. Great way to avoid
the hassle of lugging the bikes thru the train stations. Except, when
we double-checked once we got to Geneva, the 4 business days were now
3-5 days to France, and the baggage agent said there was no way they'd
get there before we left (the 5th business day). So..plan B. Naomi
said there was space for larger luggage near the doors, and if that
didn't work, well then she'd drive the bikes to Paris herself (plan
C). She wasn't able to come to the platform with us (we had to go thru
an unmanned customs station first), but she waited outside while we
waited inside. Switzerland is one of those marvelous countries where
they not only tell you the platform, but they also have a schematic
about where to stand for which car. So, we planted ourselves near the
far end of the platform, as ours was scheduled to be the last car.
And...as the train pulled into the station, it was clear that they had
hooked it up backwards. As you can imagine, this resulted in some
chaos, as people scrambled from one end to the other. We had counted
on boarding as close to first as possible to have the best luggage
options, and instead we were confronted by luggage space that, while
not full, wasn't big enough in any case for my bike. We managed to
shove David's in, and another passenger indicated that there was a
bigger space for luggage at the front of the car (we were now the car
right behind the engine). Sure enough, there was a large compartment
with plenty of space. I don't think that compartment can exist in any
but the car behind the engine (or possibly the last car), since it is
where the doors between cars would normally be. Our seats turned out
to be upstairs, so we moved our lighter luggage up there, where the
space was also larger.
We left the station slowly, and moved pretty sedately for the first
couple of stops. We were starting to make cracks about "pas grand
vitesse" when we got into the countryside proper and really picked up
speed. David turned on the GPS and we saw speeds as high as 300 kph
(180 mph). The train was really quiet and smooth and pretty clean,
although the bathroom had no water for hand washing.
The main reason for booking our return through Paris was to visit
Huguette Sirey, the woman who nearly married my father 53 years ago.
Although her family scotched that plan because they could not deal
with her marrying a divorced man, my mother (believe it or not)
remained close to her, and she, my sister and I have visited her from
time to time. My sister more than I, and I was beginning to worry that
I wouldn't recognize her, so I asked CK to send me a picture. This did
not arrive before we left Geneva. Upon leaving the train, however, my
eye was caught by a sign with my name in big orange letters. There she
was, waving her sign, having deduced our train from the scant
information I had mailed her (I did not want to suggest that she come
to the station). I would not have recognized her. Although she is
about 85, she proceded to march us up and down stairs, insisting on
pulling one of our bags, through the metro system to our hotel, which
she had located before we arrived (and left a message in case we
missed each other). She does like to talk, so it took a little while
to extricate ourselves, although she kept saying she knew we wanted to
settle in. The hotel had an elevator, but it required going down a
flight of about 4 or 5 steps to get to. This has been the rule, rather
than the exception in Europe -- not very accessible. Nina wanted to
see the Catacombs, which are not open on Mondays, so we dropped off
the bags and hustled back to the Metro. But, although we reached the
catacombs an hour before they closed, the line was ridiculous, and
they had stationed an official at the end to say that the line was now
more than an hour long. So instead we repaired to a cafe for
omelettes, as we hadn't really eaten for about 8 hours. That evening,
we went to see the Eiffel tower, which is pretty spectacular when lit
up. The lines to take the elevator to the top were also ridiculous, so
we skipped that as well. I thought there would be fewer tourists so
long after Labor Day! Perhaps so, but not few. So we contented
ourselves by walking along the Seine. When we decided that the road
alongside was just too noisy, we stopped to contemplate the map and
our immediate surroundings, then turned around to see an amazing light
display on the Eiffel tower! Apparently at exactly 8:00 (or was it
9:00?) they put on this show of flashing lights that makes the entire
thing look like it's infested with fireflies. Very cool, and fun to
see it without expecting it. We headed off toward the Champs Elysees
and found a nice little restaurant with outdoor seating. Then along
the Champs Elysees to the Metro and home.
The next day, which was Nina's last in Paris, she wanted to do a
walking tour of the Marais, which was the district we were staying in
(we were quite close to the Bastille metro station). That was fun, and
included wandering into the Jewish quarter, where preparations for
Sukkot were in full swing. Several vendors were selling the lulav and
etrog. Since I'd finally managed to come up with the word "citron"
after eating some patries that had candied citron, it was fun seeing
them sold. We also stopped into a Jewish bakery and got several very
yummy sweets. Eventually, we tired of the walking tour and headed to
Notre Dame. It, too, had ridiculous lines to go up into the towers, so
we contented ourselves with touring the inside. It seemed darker and
more crowded than I remembered, and the trees outside seemed to have
grown enough to make it difficult to really get a good view of the
flying buttresses. Nothing ever stays the same.
Next we headed toward the Latin quarter, via a bakery (Kayser at 8 rue
Monge) reputed to be one of two with the best croissants, according to
"It Must Have Been Something I Ate," a recent favorite book by Jeffrey
Steingarten, the marvelously obsessed Vogue food writer. The
croissants were indeed fabulous. We had tried to find one of the hot
chocolate suggestions from the same book in the Place des Vosges, but
did not find it, so we settled for the recommendation (Angelina at 226
rue de Rivoli) of a friend of Nina's, who had lived in Paris. Very
posh and very good.
We had invited Huguette to dinner without having chosen a restaurant.
We researched on the internet several possibilities from the same book
and chose La Regalade. It was very difficult to determine how
vegetarian friendly it was, so David and I had made a side trip over
there to see if we could look at the menu. Despite what the website
said, it was closed on Mondays. So we asked Huguette for a suggestion.
She had previously asked us to lunch for Tuesday, and was rather
flummoxed by needing to worry about serving a vegetarian. She had
planned to serve scallops, but while David eats fish, he does not eat
shellfish. Thus ensued a discussion of the difference between the two.
Anyway, after an hour or so of research, Huguette came up with Le
Divellec, a restaurant with a Breton chef that she described as
"expensive, but not extravagant" and which specialized in fish.
Crossing our fingers for Nina's dinner (she does not eat fish), we
agreed to meet her there at 8:00. Since it wasn't far from the Latin
quarter, we figured we'd just wander around, leaving ourselves enough
time to find the restaurant and walk there. We went by the Sorbonne
(could not go in for security reasons) and along several side streets
in this university district. We skirted the Luxembourg gardens (just
closing) and arrived at the rue de le Universite with about 15 minutes
to spare. We were looking for 107 and arrived at about 16. Looking
both ways, it looked like the right had the most potential for getting
that high in numbers, and headed that way. It took a while to find
another address, and it was lower. So we reversed course and headed
back up the street. The numbers turned over very slowly, and finally
appeared to peter out altogether at 105! At this point, we were faced
with a large square with the Assemblee Nationale, and nothing remotely
restaurant-like in sight. And now we were late. Turned on the GPS,
which slowly found itself and indicated that indeed there were more
numbers beyond the square. We found Huguette pacing outside. Still, we
were almost the first diners in the restaurant.
Le Divellec was marvelous. The wait staff was unflamboyantly
attentive, and they didn't bat an eye when asked what they could
provide for a vegetarian. They whipped up a very nice assortment of
mushrooms, potatoes, green beans and salad for Nina. David and I had
two different fish in terrine. Fabulous. A little appetizer to start
(on the house, with a different one for Nina when she rejected the
first fishy one), and an amazing dessert cart to finish. And the
entertainment! Chef le Divellec invented a lobster press, which the
waitstaff utilizes at the table for those who order lobster. This
performance cannot be said to be unflamboyant. In fact, it's
marvelously over the top. Vincent would have hated it. But it was very
entertaining. As far as I could figure, it simply allowed the "coral"
to be pressed out of the body without getting any shells in the
resulting extract, which was then was mixed with various other things
to form a sauce cooked at the table.
The bill was also amazing. I'd like to know Huguette's definition of
extravagant. But you only live once, and it was one of the fanciest,
and best, meals any of us had ever had. Huguette talked non-stop
through the entire meal. Very entertaining, but it took us nearly 3
hours to get out of there, and we still had to get home, get Nina
packed, and get to bed early enough for her to catch an 11:00 metro to
the train to the airport.
The next day after foraging for breakfast back at the Place des Vosges
(in the Cafe Victor Hugo, with an extremely churlish waiter), we
tackled the Metro-RER combination that would get Nina to the airport.
Of course, we didn't leave quite as early as we had planned, and the
ticket machines decided to reject all of our credit cards and would
not take paper money (only 1, 2 and 5 Euro coins). Nor would the candy
shop provide change. So we used our regular Metro tickets and then
bought an RER ticket for Nina at the transfer station. It was a bit
tricky to figure out which train (each RER train line has 4 possible
destinations, as each direction splits into two near the termini), but
we got her on one not horribly late, and it seems she made it to the
airport on time.
David and I then repaired to the Bois des Bolognes for a soothing
walk. Earlier, I had discovered that despite the Google information
that comes up first when you Google "L'Orangerie," it is NOT open on
Tuesdays. This museum, in the corner of the Tuileries, reputedly
houses an impressive collection of Impressionist art. I've never
managed to go because I'm always either in Paris on the wrong day or
it's closed for renovation, or something. And now, I'd blown it again.
It had been open on Monday, but since I thought it was also open on
Tuesday, we'd decided to do what Nina wanted that day, rather than
dragging her to a museum she wasn't interested in. Instead, David
found the Musee Marmottan, near the Bois des Bolognes, which houses
Monet's collection of Impressionist art, including a lot of his own
and Berthe Morisot's, as well as a bunch of First Empire furniture and
medieval sculpture and illuminated manuscripts. That mollified me a
bit, but I'd still like to see L'Orangerie one day.
We finished the day with dinner at Huguette's. She had originally
planned lunch, but apparently woke up panicked in the morning and left
a message at our hotel asking if we'd come for dinner instead. That
suited our schedule just fine. We stopped off at a flower store on the
way and again found Huguette pacing outside. She said she had come
downstairs to look for her garage keys. Anyway, she escorted us
upstairs to her tiny apartment, about which we had been forwarned both
by my sister and by Huguette herself. The sitting room has been taken
over with storage for years, although she's making an effort to sort
things out, so one can at least walk in and turn around in there.
Since the rest of the apartment consists of a small bedroom, foyer,
tiny kitchen, toilet, and bath, that's a significant reduction in
living space.
Dinner had, in the end, been ordered from a caterer, but Huguette was
still as nervous as if she'd spent all day on it. She popped the main
course in the oven and served the appetizer on her desk converted into
the smallest possible dining table. Serving dishes had to find
roosting places on nearby hassocks and even the floor. She had cooled
a bottle of champagne in celebration of our wedding (5 years ago).
Unfortunately, she had partially frozen it, so when David opened it,
it started spewing champagne everywhere. Despite being the farthest
from the bathroom, he managed to control it admirably and minimized
the damage. Huguette pulled a towel and what appeared to be hospital
scrubs out of a cupboard and started skating around her bathroom on
them to clean up the mess, while I sopped up the rug. Exciting.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and we eventually extricated ourselves
since we had to pack and leave relatively early in the morning.
Back at the hotel, we asked about the airport shuttle we'd noticed a
sign for (fully booked by now, as it was nearly 10:00), and then a
taxi. With two bicycles, roller bags, and Timbuktu shoulder bags, we
didn't really want to try the Metro/RER method. The night receptionist
called several cab companies and finally found one that said they
would come at 8:00. We made it down to reception at about 7:40 the
next morning, hurried through breakfast, and waited for the cab. And
waited, and waited, and worried. The day receptionist had arrived, but
the night one didn't leave until he found us a cab. This required
calling yet another company and waiting a bit more. FInally, at 8:30,
a cab arrived and headed into very heavy traffic. In the end, we got
the airport only about 10 or 15 minutes later than we had planned, and
since each 10 gates had a separate security line, we easily made our
plane. We'd checked the bikes and carried on the rest since United
only allows one free bag internationally. David had kept a few tools
(a long 8-mm allen wrench and a monkey wrench) with him to save weight
on the bike case. I'd forgotten about my fingernail scissors, which in
any case are legal in the US. Fortunately, the baggage counter lady
had asked specifically about knives, so David was able to transfer his
little Swiss army knife (also legal in the US because the blades are
so short) into his bike case. So David lost the tools and I lost my
scissors.
The flight to Chicago was unremarkable, although cold enough that I
spent the entire time with my blanket wrapped around my head and
shoulders. We took off late and arrived a little late. Customs took a
while, and then we had to recheck our bags (quick), catch a shuttle
(just missed one - 5 minutes' delay) and go through security again
(HUGE delay). No matter whom we talked to about the fact that we were
stuck in security and our flight was about to leave, we could not
speed up the process. I even ran straight from the xray machine in my
socks, putting on my shoes on the escalator, from one terminal to the
other (security served two whole terminals, unlike Paris' 10 gates),
but we still missed our connection. Shades of our train trip a couple
of months ago. Back to Customer Service, where we were able to get on
a flight 2 hours later. Another cold flight and we still had to
collect our luggage. The main lock on David's bike case had been
ripped right off, but the baggage people said merely "Oh yeah, it
happens all the time." Then to BART. We had called Lewis from Chicago,
and he had agreed to stage our car at North Berkeley BART. He
confirmed that it was near the elevator, so we got on the rear car.
David had to take both tickets upstairs to add fare, while I sat on
the bench and guarded our luggage. I watched a lady slowly schlep down
the length of the platform with her suitcase, head to elevator, and
then come back. She reported that the elevator was out of service! One
more time, we lifted my 50-lb bike case onto my back and dragged
ourselves the length of the station to the escalator. Then I went and
got the car. Boy, were we glad to get home! Just about 23 hours, door
to door.

Not fasting in Geneva

After an 8-hour drive (not counting stops, every 2 hours, for espresso and some very fine pasta with potatoes, string beans and excellent pesto) we made it to Geneva. I drove some of the same stretch with John Fiorillo 35 years ago (yow!), and the engineering of the stretch of autostrada along the Mediterranean coast still impresses. For miles and miles (or maybe kilometers), you are on either a bridge spanning a valley or in a tunnel cutting thru a mountain. It seems like the only thing on unaltered ground are the entrances and exits of the tunnels where they transition to bridges. It must have taken 10 times as long to drive that route (if indeed it was even possible) before the autostrada was constructed. One of the things that seems really odd is that as you pass into a tunnel, you often see a farmer hand tilling his field just above on the hillside. It seems like having the autostrada right next to your family farm is terrible, until you realize that if it had been constructed on the surface, most of those farms would have been destroyed to build the road. The toll, which covered about 6 hours of driving, was 41 Euros, which is a lot, but not when you think about how much it must have cost to construct the road.
Then we wound up a beautiful valley with spectacular views of the alps until we came the Mt. Blanc tunnel. See previous comments about that. After nearly 8 hours of driving, it was even harder to maintain the concentration needed to keep the speed between the upper and lower bounds and to keep a distance of two blue lights between us and the car in front of us. Especially when a police car or some other official car pulled out of one of the frequent niches where a disabled car can pull over. I had to eke out my 2 lights' distance again without causing the car behind me to get too close. And once you are out of the tunnel, the excitement is not over. The road twists steeply downward into France with lots of traffic. On the way up it wasn't so exciting because gravity was helping reduce the speeds, but going down was something else. Like the Grapevine on the way to LA, the left and right sides of the road are switched (opposing traffic is on your right), as the engineers took advantage of the best slopes for uphill and downhill traffic.
Our handy GPS got us right to Vincent and Naomi's house, which we went slightly past, then stopped on the curve considering our options for unloading. A loud bellow of "DAVID" from the heavens caught our attention, and Vincent (up on their balcony) directed us to back up to an open space we had not seen. Right in front. How lucky is that? By the time we had unloaded, it was 6:00, and one can park for 1 hour, with parking restrictions going away at 7:00. The next day we got up early and got rid of the car. Can't say I was sorry to see it go.
Since our last visit, Naomi and Vincent have emptied their country house (it's being remodeled) and moved back into their city apartment. It's very nice, with a great view of the hills that is particularly nice at sunset. They even have a water view (if you look closely through the trees, you can see a little sliver of the Rhone river). We've walked through the Bastion (nice park in the center of Geneva near the old town), the old town, and two adjacent parks donated by the landowners whose land they had been. Really nice. The second day, we took the bikes apart (this I'm starting to really hate -- how is it that it gets harder with repetition?). Then we took a really good tour of the UN. We even saw one of the few peacocks that remain after last winter's depradations by foxes. When that land was donated to Geneva, there was a stipulation that the owners acquire and keep peacocks. This has continued through the ownership by the League of Nations, and now the UN. Walked along the lake to meet Naomi and Vincent for dinner at a really great restaurant in the old town.
Today we walked over to Carrouge, a nice old town between Vincent and Naomi's city apartment and their country house. It was market day, the highlight of which was a sort of organ grinder with an enormous cat who walked slowly up and down between the stalls attracting children to buy his lollipops. Next to a great photography exhibit of photographs of New York in the 40s and 50s by Weegee, then lunch, and past the synagogue. It slowly dawned on us that today is Yom Kippur -- and we had just eaten a huge (and very expensive) lunch. Geneva, or perhaps Switzerland in general, is amazingly expensive. Finally, we took the tram to the museum of the Red Cross. Tonight we'll have fondue or raclette, in honor of Switzerland. Tomorrow: Paris.

Siena continued

Sunday, we got up early while Nina slept in, and we headed for the museum of the Duomo. Just as we left our apartment, though, our attention was drawn by the beating of drums only a block away (the border of the district adjacent to ours that seems to have won the Palio and is still celebrating more than a month later). An amazing procession of men and boys, all dressed in medieval costume of their district's colors, marched in procession with drums banging and flags waving, apparently on their way to church. We heard them again later, after standing in the open wi-fi zone we found near a hotel and collecting our email and posting my previous blog. In the Piazza del Duomo, we ran across a Fiat 500 rally, with dozens of the little cars, many tricked out with stickers, stuffed animals, etc. We gave Nina a quick call, but no answer (she was in the shower). So David made a video with his iThing of their departure, a very noisy and stinky affair. Then we headed inside and looked at a whole lot more religious art, including a really brilliant stained-glass window, 6 m in diameter, by some famous Sienese artist. Apparently, the fact that he hand-painted facial details was a novelty in his time. One thing we noticed was that the faces in the lower part were mostly blurred beyond recognition, while those higher up were still crisp. I suppose people touched the lower ones before it was put out of harm's way. It was removed for the last time during WWII to protect it from Allied bombing. No explanation of the implied previous times it was removed.
At one point, we went down some stairs and found ourselves in the gift shop. David pointed out that we had not gone up some stairs that he had seen (right at the beginning), so we reversed back up and continued with our tour. Soon after, Nina called, and we encouraged her to meet us so we could go up a tower that is said to provide the best vista of Siena. By the time she reached the Piazza del Duomo, we had realized that the only way up the tower was through the museum, and we had already had our 3-fer ticket punched when we came in. So we steered her around to the gift shop, which she slipped into when someone came out, we met her, and then led her back up to the top floor to stand in line for about half an hour. They only allow 30 people in at a time, which turns out to be a good thing, as it involves climbing an extremely narrow spiral staircase - one of those affairs where you can only put your foot flat at the extreme outer edge. You wouldn't want to meet someone coming the other way. You're also pretty darn dizzy by the time you make it to the very top. But the view is indeed spectacular. You get a very different idea of the Duomo when you on a level with its roof. The tower we were in is part of an unfinished nave. The Duomo is so enormous already, it's hard to imagine it with the extra space had the nave been finished. Amazing what an unlimited amount of money will buy.
After lunch, we drove to San Gimignano, reputed to be the most medieval town in Italy. It still has many of its towers intact, and it is quite fascinating. And touristy. My god, the hordes, and the prices! Although I did manage to buy a purse for 15 Euros that sells for 20 in Siena, and was marked 19. I handed the lady a 50 Euro note, and she asked if I had anything smaller. Fifteen, I replied, while digging around to see how many Euro coins I had. Fifteen is fine, said she. How's that for inadvertant bargaining?
After driving back and stowing our car in the little villa garden belonging to our landlord, we walked back into the walled part of the city and came across a little restaurant that looked promising. It had bunches of tiny rooms (4 or 5 tables) and two sets of stairs that disappeared deep into the bowels of the earth. One was blocked off, but Nina and David explored the others and found additional rooms, although so damp that the furniture was all mildewy. The room we were in, between the two stairs, was fine though. We ordered two pizzas and a salad, which seemed to flummox our waitress, even when I told her "mangiamo tutti insieme" (we eat all together). But she decided to go with the flow, and we rewarded her (heh) by ordering tiramisu for dessert. Nina pointed out that this was our 4th dessert for the day. Uh oh.
Yesterday, David and I decided to do a ride we read about on the same website as the one two days before. This one required a drive to the nearby town of Casole d'Elsa, so we left Nina sleeping and rode out to where the car was parked, loaded the bikes and GPS'd our way there. When we got there, we began to worry a bit about the weather, which was quite overcast. But the temp was about 78 degrees, it was very humid, and we set off. After a nice descent from the hill town where we were parked, we started climbing steadily to the border of the province of Pisa. We investigated the small town of Monteguido on the way -- it has a church that is supposed to be interesting, but was locked, and rode up to the fortress of Montecastello Pisano, hoping to find something open for lunch (it was now 12:30). Nothing. Only one recognizable restaurant, but it was closed (as restaurants often are on Mondays in Italy). No bars, nothing. So we headed back down to the main road, stopped to put the paper map away (it was now sprinkling), and then decided we'd best take cover in the bus shelter we'd stopped next to. Good thing, as it soon began to pour. We had room for two bikes, and there were 3 chairs, two of which were usable (after David reassembled his, which had started to come apart). Two bike tourists appeared nearby under a tree, and then made a run for the cemetary where they found better shelter. We talked to one later (they're from Belgium) when he came out to see if it was okay to continue. Finally, after about 45 minutes, we decided the weather wasn't getting any better and returning home the way we came was the better part of valor. Since the rain had at least temporarily stopped (despite dark clouds all around), we took off back down the hill we had climbed. Since it was mostly downhill, this went quickly, and the rain held off, except for minor sprinkles, until after we got back. We passed the car and headed up into town, found one open bar, which had a vegetarian option (small pizzette with tomatoes and cheese) and warmed ourselves with cappuccini. Then we explored the church opposite the bar until we heard thunder. Back we skedaddled to the car, threw both bikes inside, and headed home. Again, the rain held off until we were back at our parking spot, but then our luck ran out and we rode back to the apartment in the rain. Not so bad, considering how wet we woud have gotten had we not stopped in the bus shelter. Dinner at a little restaurant just a block away (a delicious, if salty, fish stew for me; wide handmade noodles with pinenuts and saffron for Nina, thick noodles with vegetables and tomatoes for David, and some not bad white beans, but not as good as the other night).
Today is our last day in Italy (other than our long drive tomorrow) Nina is still having trouble getting out of bed. David has lubed the bike chains and is washing the dishes, and I guess I'd better stop blogging.

Siena is a beautiful, noisy place

One amendment to the paean about location, location, location for our apartment. You'd better have earplugs if you stay here. The nightlife goes on past 3 a.m., and the last two nights included a procession past our window with everyone singing, plus a drummer. Even double-paned windows can't keep that out. And then around 5:30 a.m. the garbage collectors and street sweepers come. You'd be better off a little farther off the beaten path. The southeastern corner of the city, where the University and the synagogue are, seems a lot quieter, even only a block or two from the Campo (the large square where the horse race takes place). We explored around there last night, finding a fascinating display of old stretchers and carts for bringing the "misericordia" to hospital. We went to the synagogue, but it is not open to the public, although Nina and her mother knocked on the door last year and got a tour. We also visited the church of San Clemente in Santa Maria dei Servi, with two mummified monks on display. These Catholics have a strange way of honoring their saints. The church of San Domenico has both the severed head and a finger of Santa Caterina of Siena on display. Oy. Turning to more pleasant things, we found a wonderful restaurant just around the corner from the synagogue on Via del Porrione called Osteria il Vicolo. We passed by before it opened, and it looked so charming and the menu sounded so good (and inexpensive) that we decided to return after our SE-ward explorations. When we got there, there were 2 police cars parked outside and 3 policemen looking serious inside, but nothing seemed to come of it. The section of restaurant you can see from the street was deserted (except for the policemen), but we went in and were ushered into the neighboring room. This was a bit of a let-down, since the first room was charmingly low lit and old countryish. The second room was much brighter, had a TV going in the corner, and a family of 4, including two very young children drinking Coke, loudly having dinner next to us. But the food made it all worthwhile. The chef has won a number of awards, as you can see plastered all over the walls. He came out to talk to the family, and although he looks pretty Italian, he has a pretty Middle Eastern-sounding name. The Osteria boasts of typical Sienese cuisine, and as far as we can tell, it was. David had a wonderful risotto with radicchio, Nina had taglietelli with the best pesto we've ever tasted, and I had wide noodles with porcini mushrooms. We all shared Fagioli al Fiasco (?!), some really delicious white beans with lots of garlic, butter, and rosemary. Wow. And an unpronounceable torte to finish with chocolate filling and chopped hazelnuts on top. Definitely a must-eat restaurant if you come to Siena.
Dinner the previous night had been at a restaurant facing the Campo, which was good, but not spectacular. The most exciting part was when Nina picked up her purse from the ground to take a picture, and a lizard that had parked itself there jumped onto her pants. A bit of wild dancing and he shook off onto the ground and headed for the purse at an adjoining table. They eventually noticed him and were threatening to stomp him when the waiter intervened and scooped him gently into a dustpan then onto one of the short pillars that ring the Campo. He probably climbed down and got into more mischief, but at least he was spared immediate death.
We visited the Duomo yesterday afternoon, which is about as over the top as you can get -- in many ways. First it is several structures on top of each other. The lowest, and I suppose oldest, is the Baptistry, with frescoes by famous Sienese artists. For the ones on the ceiling, they thoughtfully provided mirrors, so you could sit on a pew and look down instead of up to examine the ceilings. Above the Baptistry is the Crypt, which seems the oldest, but it is hard to imagine how they managed to slot the Baptistry under it. The Crypt was merely a workspace for artisans building the cathedral above, but at some point fairly recently, they cleaned the soot off the walls and found 11th, 12th, and 13th century frescoes from an earlier church. The frescoes are in parts very well preserved, and in others, have been hacked into to provide anchor spots for the beams of the cathedral above. The entire ceiling is now supported with an intricate web of steel supports, I suppose because they dug out rubble or other foundation to reveal this earlier church. David points out that the study of architecture here must be very different from in the US, since you have to learn how to deal with older structures that form the foundation of your work, probably without really knowing how the older structures are supported.
The upper cathedral is impossible to describe. For one who loves the ubiquitous terrazzo floors of Italian churches and other important buildings, this one is a new experience. While there are geometric patterns forming lattices around the main designs, the main designs are incredibly complex pictorial works of inlaid and carved stone (not sure what the lines are filled with after they are etched, but you can see that the etching is done by a series of very closely spaced punches. The sanctuary is tremendously tall, with black-and-white striped, intricately shaped pillars supporting arches running in multiple directions. The walls contain uncountable paintings, frescoes, and statues by important Sienese artists. And there is a library of magnificant illuminated choral manuscripts with enormous pages of very large notes and text -- perhaps the entire choir was meant to be able to read the same book? The room was ordered to be built by Pope Pio III, son of Pope Pio II, both of whom are somehow related to one of the mummified monks in S. Clement in S. Maria dei Servi. A certain amount of nepotism, if you ask me. Pio II seems to have had a long and prosperous career, but Pio III died only a couple of months after his election. The ceiling of the main hall of the cathedral is ringed by the heads of dozens, if not hundreds, of popes.
But it hasn't been all architecture and saints. Yesterday, while Nina slept in, David and I went for a ride we found in a book about bicycling in Siena (available only in German and French currently at the tourist office), and then from the website www.terresienainbici.it, which is all in Italian. But the description was fairly clear, and we could basically follow it on our map, although we did wish we had one with a scale of 1:100,000, rather than 1:300,000. The only real problem was the description of the path thru Siena itself (the ride is designed to start and end in Radda in Chianti, about 25 km to the north). The description says simply "follow the signs to the railway station, and then towards Rome." Well, the first part was easy, but at what point were we meant to stop following the signs to the train station and start following the signs to Rome? I guessed wrong. We passed one sign indicating the route to the autostrada to Rome, which didn't seem likely, but then after consulting the GPS numerous times and riding all the way around the train station 1.5 times, we found ourselves following another sign towards the autostrada to Rome, and then discovered we were on route, but doing it backwards. Since the rest of the route was pretty easy (I had hand-drawn the relevant section of the map), we decided to continue that way. It was a really nice ride, possibly easier in the direction we did it, through mostly open countryside and everygreen woods. Radda in Chianti is a nice little walled town where we stopped for coffee, and apparently popular with bike tourists, since the souvenir shop sells bike shorts and Chianti Classico jerseies. We then returned to the road that continues to Lecchi. This part is on the famous "Eroica" ride, a 200 km ride traditionally done on retro bikes. We did pass a small gaggle of Eroica riders wearing wool, using tubular tires, and riding steel frames from small (unrecognized) builders. This section was practically deserted, and mostly downhill (as the part to Radda i.C. had been almost entirely, but not steeply, uphill). The weather was wonderful, albeit with a somewhat brisk headwind. Lecchi was a charming little town that we could imagine living in (what little of it we saw as we rode through, although there wasn't much more). Both on the climb to Radda i.C. and on the descent back, there were wonderful vistas, although not really easily captured on e-film. The roads here are much better than those we rode on in Umbria.

Siena adventure begins (text)

Siena is only about 100 km from Perugia, so we decided to take the long way around Lake Trasimeno and show Nina Castiglione del Lago. We hit it during siesta time again (we are talented), but our same pasticceria was open and we bought a number of new delights to try out. The Pane Pescatore, with almonds, raisins, pinenuts and dried fruit was great, although apparently a bit to exotic for Nina (more for us). After walking along the main street, up into the fortress (which we hadn't done with the bikes) and back, we collected the car and headed to Cortona, of "Under the Tuscan Sun" fame. It is at the top of yet another hill - Umbria is famous for its hill towns, although by now we were in Tuscany -- and so parking promised to be difficult. We grabbed the first free space we saw, although it was a challenge with my bike hanging off the back and only inches to spare. Then as we walked up the hill, we passed large spot after large spot that would have been so much easier. In our excitement over squinching into the spot we found, we ended up leaving the GPS in the car, thus violating our rule of setting a waypoint to find our way back. Up and up we went, through a city garden and amphitheater, then encountered a young couple from  Belgium who were also trying to find the entrance to the city. Together we found that going up was to no avail, but backtracking a bit (not thru the garden) got us into the city proper. Full of tourists, but very charming, and a great gelateria to greet us almost immediately. Thus fortified, we headed up a set of steps that seemed to go on forever up a narrow alley. This brought us to a much less crowded street and some spectacular views of the flatter farmland below. Time was pressing, so we headed downward, ever downward figuring, we'd have to come across the set of switchbacks on which we'd parked. Which we eventually did, although not without getting worried that we'd never see our handy GPS -- or car -- again. As we had walked away from the car, we had looked down on it and seen the car behind us pull out and then back down the road a short ways to where it was no longer one way. We wondered if we should do the same rather than heading up into the tangle of the city, but the GPS seemed to show that we could continue up and then soon have a chance the turn back down the hill. All went well, and we were off to the autostrada and Siena.
The owner of our VRBO in Siena had indicated that we could not park, but could unload, near our apartment, and he would then tell us where to park legally and without paying an arm and a leg. We were to call when we got to Siena, and he would be there in "some minutes." When we did call, he indicated he could not be there for about half an hour. So we let the GPS navigate us to the apartment. Talk about nerve wracking! We entered an area restricted to traffic and soon were having to crawl along waiting for tourists all over the road to move aside. We eventually encountered a policeman on a bicycle and asked him where Via della Citta was.  He asked us why we wanted to know, and I said because our apartment is there (all of this was in Italian, or in my case, Italglish). Ah, he said, then you are almost there. Via della Citta starts right here, just keep going. That made us feel a bit better, and soon we found #19. The road was slightly wider there, so I simply pulled over in front of the door and turned on my flashers. In a short while, a man showed up and said "I am not Sr. Pratelli, but I will show you the apartment. Sr. Pratelli will come in an hour." He gave me a brief tour (there was not much to show -- you could put three of these in the last VRBO), then told me to drive out under the arch, follow the arrows and then park. We found parking about 1/2 a mile away, but all the other cars seemed to have resident stickers, so we were a bit nervous. Even more exciting was the difficulty in finding our way back to the apartment, even with the GPS. The buildings are so close together and so tall that the GPS has a really tough time finding the satellites, and it kept thinking we were on a street a block or so from the one we were actually on. So we navigated by feel and memory and fortunately found our way back.
We amused ourselves for a while by looking out the window at the tourists teeming by, but as an hour stretched by we began to get anxious about our car. So I called Mr. Pratelli again, and he seemed happy to hear from me, wondering when I'd like him to come by (!). I told him as soon as possible, and he proposed 7:30 (about 40 minutes later). I said I was worried about the car, but when he heard that it was registered in Switzerland, he said I shouldn't worry, it would be hard to get a ticket. Hmmm. So David and Nina went foraging for pizza while I started this blog. About a paragraph and a half ago, Mr. Pratelli arrived, and he spoke much better English in person than over the phone. He gave me another tour of the apartment, admonished me not to get any water in the crack around the little 2-burner stove top lest the electricity short out, and proceeded to complete his paperwork. In Italy, wherever you stay, you have to give them your passport to complete some paperwork regarding who is staying where. The only place this did not happen was in Bologna, but it probably should have.
Mr. Pratelli then proceeded to tell us where to find free parking (but watch out for street sweeping days), which would be 1.5 km or so from where we were currently parked, but only 300 m or so back to the apartment on foot. It was more like 2 or 3 km away by car, and 1 km (according to the GPS) back to the apartment. But we're set until Saturday morning at 6 a.m.
The apartment is a trip. It couldn't be more centrally located, being just around the corner from Il Campo, where the famous Palio horse race starts, or finishes, or something. But it is definitely not a car friendly section of the city. Fortunately, there are double-paned windows since the night life here seems to go on forever and is very loud (at about 3 a.m., someone started singing what sounded like a fight song or a victory song - they seem to still be celebrating whoever won the Palio in July - and at that point we opted for quiet over fresh air and closed the windows. The apartment consists of two rooms, a largish living room that doubles as Nina's bedroom and has a tiny, and I mean tiny, "kitchen" in the corner (see picture). If you've ever complained about having a small kitchen sink, think again. This one is so tiny it's practically impossible to do dishes, not that you can really cook much of anything. And there is the problem of the water and the stove (Mr Pratelli warned us again just before leaving that we must not let water get into the crack around the stove). Our room is up a short flight of stairs and has the most amazing ceiling. If I didn't know we were on a lower floor, I'd swear we were under the eaves. The bathroom, reached only through our room, has a tiny, not too clean, shower with nothing but a bit of slope to keep the water from covering the rest of the floor. The hot water heater is operated by a switch on the wall. As far as I can tell, there is no hot water in the kitchen.
But if your goal is a relatively inexpensive (100 Euro per night) place for 2 (or 3 if you don't mind being cozy), with location, location, location, and you're not arriving by car and don't really want to cook, then this is ideal.

The Siena adventure begins

Assisi and a great bike ride

Having failed miserably at self-navigation, we chose another ride from Bike Umbria (http://www.bikeinumbria.it/strada/en/homepage.htm), this time a counter-clockwise route from the outskirts of Perugia, through Assisi, skirting Gualdon Tadino, through Casa Castalda and Valfabbrica, back to the car (carefully marked as a waypoint). The route is rated difficult, not so much for the steepness as the length of the climbs. The day was hot and muggy, with the promise of a major storm on the following day. The GPS navigated us nicely to the bridge near which we were to park, and I guessed right about how to find the sports field starting point. We headed out and up, passing through some beautiful countryside near the Perugia airport. David stopped to photograph a cemetary across from a vineyard being harvested, but we soon realized the real interest lay in the harvest. The machine used to harvest the grapes was fascinating. A tractor pulling a hydraulically complicated trailer drives between rows of vines as the trailer straddles a trellis of vines, shaking them violently to dislodge the grapes (and remarkably little else) into screws that move them up into hoppers on either side. At the end of the row, a waggon is pulled up next to it, and each hopper can be independently dumped into the waggon. The farmers seemed amused by our interested, but didn't offer us any grapes.
After nearly missing a turn with signs only pointing in the wrong direction, we headed past the airport and into Assisi. It was not entirely clear how we were to proceed through Assisi, since the assumption was probably that we'd explore it before heading on. Since the plan was to bring Nina back the next day, we didn't really plan to explore, but we ended up doing so anyway. We got a tourist map, then had to ask where on the map we were, then shifted into our lowest gear and rode up some incredibly steep inclines, dodging pilgrims and harvesting myriad remarks about our insanity or our prowess, or something. We made it finally to the top of the city, found the signs for Gualdo Tadino and rode on along very quiet roads through scenic farmland. The climb to Gualdo Tadino was long and hot, and we finished all the food we had with us without finding any opportunities to buy more. By this time we were acutely aware that we were getting into the dead zone between about 1:30 and 4:00 where everything is closed. Finally, after turning away from G.T. towards Casa Castalda (supposedly, but in fact not, the end of the climb) we found an open bar in Casa Castalda. It offered only panini with meat, a few pastries, and some pre-packaged treats. We bought some wafer cookies, ate them, toured the town looking for something better, and ended back at the same bar. The patrons were amused. I ate a greasy salami panino, David had a pastry, and we both ordered double cappucinos. This caused great confusion, but eventually the barista realized that we wanted one cappucino with two espressos (due caffe), and another one of the same. Thus fortified, we pushed on. A young cyclist had stopped near the bar to catch his breath, have a drink, and eye us, and he chased us down and zipped past us down the descent. We caught him at some roadwork, then stayed on his tail for quite a while (he wasn't a great descender). I eventually passed him, which caused him to push even harder, so we found ourselves racing down the descent. I love encountering competitive young men who just can't be beat by a woman. David stuck with him longer than I did, passed him, and then eventually allowed him to take off on his own. We stopped for gelato. Leaving the gelato place, we encountered him returning (his jersey indicated that he was from Gualdo Tadino). We're still wondering what he thought became of us in the meantime.
Some more nice rolling farmland, and we were back in the neighborhood of the car. Even after following the GPS back to the sports field, we needed it to find the actual car, as there were a lot more parked at that point than when we left.
That night there was an impressive electrical storm and lots of rain, which fortunately cleared up in time for us to find our way to the famous Perugina chocolate factory (now owned by Nestle). The factory tours are not going on right now for some reason, but they did show us a film in English about how the chocolate is made, offered us lots of free samples, and allowed) us to buy as much chocolate as they could sell us. There is also a museum showing old adds, pieces of machinery, and a replica of the worlds largest sweet, in the form of an enormous baccio (literally a kiss, the famous Perugina chocolate fondant with a whole hazelnut on top). This was mad back in 2003, weighed 5980 kg, and was measured and displayed in the Piazza IV Novembre in Perugia, before being hacked to pieces and distributed to passersby (this was all chronicled in another little video).
On to Assisi, into the first parking structure we found, and up a lot of stairs to the level of the city. We headed first to the basilica of St. Francis, which Mike and I saw shortly before the Giotto frescoes were devastated by the large earthquake in 1997. Since a photographic documentation of the frescoes had just been completed before the quake, there was enough information to piece them mostly back together. I still like the lower church best (the newer, upper one was simply built on top of the lower, which itself is built on top of the crypt where St. Francis is buried). Someday I'll figure out how to translate the ceilings of the lower church into a quilt. The arches are painted a deep blue with stars, with fantastic borders of optical illusions, floral decorations, etc varying from arch to arch, and even from edge to edge of a single arch. Hard to describe, easy to love.
On the way down to the basilica, it had started to rain in earnest making the sidewalks very slippery. The streets were a bit less slippery, but since cars kept blasting by through all the tourists and pilgrims, we stayed on the sidewalk. Then I slid practically into the splits, banged my knee and broke my umbrella. Damn. It had stopped raining but threatened to start again as we left the church, and we were starving, so we headed for the nearest restaurant that wasn't obviously set up to catch the tourists leaving the basilica. We ended up in the Trattoria Via Vecchio, which was actually quite wonderful. We met another American couple from North Carolina, who offered to combine with us into a party of 5 so we could get a seat sooner. One of the best meals of the trip. After lunch we found the Palazzo Vallemani, which housed a museum that we had seen a poster for (some Da Vinci's and medieval torture devices), but when we got there seemed to be having some other less interesting exhibit. It was starting to rain again, so we navigated back to the car and went home.
In the evening we had been slated to attend a sagra, a typically Italian local festival put on by small towns over a period of a week to 10 days and featuring local specialties (we saw one promising a roasted boar's head!). But the plans changed because the only good one was almost an hour's drive away. So instead the owner of the VRBO and her mother put on a lovely spread under a canopy (it was raining again) of a local specialty called pasta nocina (pasta with sausage) and pasta with tomato sauce for the vegetarians among us. A lovely salad, some crostini to start, and a fabulous watermelon to finish completed the feast. The other guests are all quite nice, including a new couple from Holland and his sister, who has lived in Italy for the last 15 years. We got her card, since she is a realtor and property manager.
Gotta go. The car is packed. We're off to Siena.

Perugia

So we drove into Perugia -- another exciting adventure in Italian driving. Although we really needed a station wagon to haul bikes and stuff for 3 people, I am really beginning to regret the size of the beast we have. Some of the arches we have to pass thru are scarcely wider than the car, and some of the turns, including into the parking at our VRBO, simply cannot be done in one go. We keep getting ourselves into places we really don't want to be, even if the GPS thinks we do. When we find the public parking lot, we are so relieved we don't care what it will cost to get the car back out of hock when we are done being tourists (8.50 Euro, as it turns out).
From the corner of the parking lot, two escalators in succession take a lot of the pain out of the hilliness of this hill town. Still, there are more steps before we reach a real street. What strikes us first is how structures are piled upon structures to such an extent it is pretty much impossible to discern what the underlying terrain might look like. This city was first settled by the Etruscans in the third or fourth century BCE and has been inhabited ever since. It may be that only the ancient Etruscans know what lies below. It sure makes for photogenic (but hard to photograph) alleys, streetscapes, piazzas, and overlooks. We made our way to the Piazza IV Novembre (what is it with all these dates?) where the cathedral and the Palazzo dei Priori are separated by a bizarre medieval fountain. As it was getting late, we declined to spend almost 20 Euro to go in the museum for only an hour or so, but it looks like a place to go back to. The cathedral has what is supposed to be Mary's wedding ring, although one sign seems to say this is a replacement after it was removed by someone who had the upper hand for a while. And even if it were the original, Mary would have had to have been about 10 feet tall and 500 pounds to wear anything that large. Under the eaves of the cathedral a very talented chorus of singers in ordinary street clothes started singing while we were in a nearby coffeeshop. We came out to hear the end of their concert and were quite impressed. I would love to know the words of the folk tune they sang as the middle of the three songs we heard. David recorded all three with his iThing, but they're a bit muffled.
We wandered around a bit looking for the Perugina chocolate shop, and when we found it, we were sorely disappointed. It was full of schlock at high prices, so while David and Nina picked out a few candies, I wandered outside and sat on the steps of the Palazzo. This afforded me a very nice view of a nun eating gelato with friends. She caught me photographing her and gave me a big smile. We stopped in a coop grocery store for supplies, then navigated back to the car with the GPS. We've found it very helpful to set a waypoint at the car before leaving it, else we'd still be wandering around looking for it in various cities we've been to.
We returned home and created a wonderful dinner of strozzapreti (strangled priest) pasta with pesto, supplemented by sauteed eggplant and onion for those of us who eat such stuff. Nina is really more of a carbohydrian than a vegetarian; pretty much all the standard vegetables available in an Italian market (eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, radicchio) are on her no-go list.

GPS, Google maps, and VRBOs

Another bizarro day of driving in the Italian countryside. We decided we did not want to whiz along the autostradas directly to Perugia, but rather take a more scenic route. We asked Google maps to avoid tolls and highways and got what looked like a reasonable route, but had 4 pages of directions (this should have been a warning). One thing about Google maps is that the printed directions assume you can keep perfect track of how far you have come from the last turn. They don't tell you anything useful like what town you might be in when the next turn is coming up. So, we ended up joining the weekend traffic jam out of town toward the Adriatic, then headed through Faenze (home of faeance (sp?) pottery) and eventually out into the countryside and up the Appennines. Gnarly curvy roads with plenty of cyclists, but very slow going, then back down more hairpins into the next valley, then up another steep climb. By this point, we felt pretty sure this was an insane way to go. So we switched to the GPS, which plotted a fairly reasonable course alongside the autostrada on a subsidiary road. Near the end, we had misgivings because it was sending us down some pretty minor roads, but sure enough, we ended up at Casale i Perugini, our next VRBO (vacation rental by owner).
Now, VRBO's are a bit of a crapshoot, although you can look at photos, read reviews, and ask the owners questions before you commit. The VRBO in Bologna was tiny, without parking, but very compact and generously stocked with staples. Casale i Perugini is about 15 km outside of Perugia (we knew that going in) in an old country house that the owner's grandfather bought in about 1955 and restored. Our apartment is nearly as big as our house back home. Certainly, the dining room is larger than ours, possibly larger than our living room. Two bedrooms (one has 3 single beds), enormous foyer (where we can put the bikes), kitchen, and very large balcony complete the suite. There is a dishwasher, but no soap (in either kitchen or bath), and no staples at all. And the hot water is either cold or scalding hot with pressure varying wildily. Free parking in the farmyard area across the road. The owner gave us a hand-drawn (xeroxed) map of where the nearest markets, bus stops, pizzerias, etc are, but it is so far out of scale, that when we decided to walk to the market we soon found ourselves walking at least 2 km along a rather busy road, and then back in the gathering dusk. Next time, we'll drive.
Yesterday morning, the plan was for David and me to take a ride before Nina woke up, perhaps ending around 2 or 3:00. But of course, having had to pack the bikes into the car, we had to find everything and untangle David's chain, which had gotten itself into an impossible place when he folded the bike. Plus, we had to figure out not only the route (around Lake Trasimeno), but also how to get there to start it. At first, we thought we'd ride, but then it was getting so late, we decided to drive. Google maps and the GPS had two very different ideas about how to approach this task, and we decided to see what the GPS had to offer. Ho boy, had we followed that on a bike, we'd still be riding TO the lake, and would never have done today's ride. It took us up yet another steep switch-backy route (with cyclists, tho), and down again into a town with very narrow streets. Since we had navigated to that town, rather than the next one, we were now without guidance, and ended up driving in a few circles and through some mighty tight turns for our too big car (Opel station wagon) before we found the town where our ride was to start. We continued along the route until we found a reasonable place to park, and then I marked a waypoint, so we could find our way back.
The ride around the lake was nice, once we found our way to it. Although this is a fairly major tourist destination, at least for Italians, the roads were sparsely traveled, and we saw many farm houses in various states of decay, including one near Castiglione del Lago that we decided was our next fixer-upper project. I'm sure it would be a nightmare, but it was so romantic. The roof looked okay and the walls were pretty much intact, but it appeared to be totally abandoned. Off in the distance was one of those ubiquitous farm buildings that appear almost organic as parts of them seem to be melting back into the soil, while others seem to be in everyday use. The lake itself is only about 36 miles around by the road, with a remarkable amount of farmland abutting the lake itself. Towns are scattered at intervals along the lake, but they're not very large. Castiglione del Lago has a 13th century castle high up on a hill, surrounded by walls. Just inside the old walled part, there is a nice pedestrian area with plenty of shops (many open even on a Sunday) selling local specialities. We got some great pastries (savory as well as sweet) in a pasticceria/paneteria, evaded the woman trying to give us samples of salumi, and ogled the olive-wood cutting boards, cheese grater trays, etc. Back on the bikes, we passed through Passignano, where Mike Eaton and I started our Umbria Tour in 1996 (http://www.grizzlypeakcyclists.org/trips/Italy9610.html) and we even found the car again. This time, we allowed the GPS to use highways, and we got back to the house in no time.
Dinner at a so-so pizzeria/restaurant followed a rather nice aperitif with our fellow guests at Casale i Perugini. The rest of the guests are Austrian and German, so I got to practice my German (much, MUCH better than my Italian). Dinner was eminently forgettable. After dinner, David and I plotted out a route up above Capocavallo that looked promising, with no strade bianche (unpaved roads) according to Google maps.
This morning, we headed off for the ride, climbed up to Alta Capocavallo, and came to the intersection with the road to the cemetary, where Via Vasco de Gama was supposed to head off the hill. We found a paved road toward Alta Capocavallo, the unpaved road that dead-ended in 100 m or so at the cemetary, and an unpaved road up the hill. We tried the paved road, but that also led to a dead end. We asked a driver who happened by, and he said go back to the cemetary and go uphill. We talked to another driver who came down the unpaved road and asked how far it was unpaved. Up to the friars, he said (I think). Hmmm. Well, we'll give it a go. We had to walk a fair bit of the road because it was in terrible shape and quite steep. Then we came to a more level bit, but still unpaved. It seemed to be going in the right direction, although the GPS had long since given up showing us any road at all. Then a paved road appeared on the GPS, although it, too, was unpaved. Finally, we came to an intersection with a paved road and found that we were exactly on route. So much for Google maps and GPS. At any rate, it was pretty much downhill from there, and soon we found ourselves back at the apartment, having gone a mere 11.6 miles. But at least it leaves us plenty of time to explore Perugia.

Bologna

For the past 5 days, we've been attending language school in the heart of old Bologna. What an incredible city! There are miles and miles of covered walkways or porticos, generally along the front of shops, such that one could walk almost anywhere within the old city or the near surround without getting wet during a rainstorm, or without baking in the noonday sun. One of the best, and the longest, is the 4 km continuous portico built to connect the Chiesa de San Luca (church of St. Luke), symbol of the city, way up on a hill, to the basilica downtown. Each year during feragosto (remember, that's the feast of the Assumption that we ran into in Rome), a medieval icon of the Madonna and child (a very adult looking child), which is normally behind a gold screen in the church, with a just two cut-outs for the faces of the Madonna and child, is carried from the church to the basilica. The arcade, with 666 (!) arches was built to protect the icon from the elements during its transit. We walked the last 3 km of it from our apartment to the church. The stations of the cross are represented in either carved or painted tableaus at regular intervals along the arcade, and occasionally, a driveway crosses the walkway to connect a villa to the road that runs along the arcade. The church is incredibly ornate and full of people praying to the icon, going to confession, etc. We felt a bit like intruders.
Language school was a mixed bag. They make a big deal about having everyone (including those who, like David and Nina, have essentially no prior experience in Italian) take a written test in advance and then there is a short oral interview to determine your level of ability to communicate. From these they determine the classes for grammar and conversation to place you in. I would have told them to put David in Nina in the lowest, beginner level and me one level up. Instead they put Nina in the lowest, David in the second lowest, and me yet one higher. David and I were both pretty much at sea in our grammar classes. They allowed David to demote himself after the first day, but discouraged me from doing likewise. Then, when I asked in the middle of the second day for some extra help (which their blurb says they offer) to catch up on the holes in what I should have known before starting my class, they decided I should instead go down a class for grammar, but not for conversation. The grammar was much easier, although perhaps a little too easy, and the conversation continued to be very difficult because I lack the vocabulary necessary for it. Oh well, we all learned a lot, and at least I will continue studying on my own or with a teacher when I get back.
Today, since we don't have school tomorrow and thus don't have do homework before anything else, David and I went for our first and only bike ride while in Bologna. Although where we are is very urban, Google maps shows that some of the side streets very nearby, where we have seen cyclists disappearing for the last few days, lead quickly into the countryside and up into the hills. We mapped out a course, strapped on the GPS, and headed out. After a short steepish climb, we were pretty much following along a ridge with only moderate rolling, looking down on one side into built-up Bologna, and on the other at farmland. A steep down, another steep up, and we had a lovely descent back into the city. We tried to avoid the main road that we've been riding over on the bus thru the old part of the city, but one-way streets forced us onto it. Since most traffic is not allowed in that part of the city (locals and busses only), it wasn't too bad. One last gelato -- at the place David's been eyeing for days (he calls it the Gellateria of Our Lady in White) -- and back home. Dinner at the Trattoria Belle Arti - OMG!!!! the tortelloni with butter and sage and the melanazane (eggplant) stufa were fantastic. For sure, it was a net positive caloric day. And so, to bed. Tomorrow, we head to Perugia.

Adventures in Italian driving

After another lovely relaxing day in Geneva, including a short bike ride in the countryside, we picked Nina up at the airport on Sunday morning, got our car, and headed back to Italy. This involved heading around the west side of the lake into France, then through the Mont Blanc tunnel. After the disastrous fire in 1999, the traffic regulations are extremely strict. There is a minimum and maximum speed limit of 50 and 70 kph, respectively, and a required distance between cars of 150 meters. They even have blue lights every 75 m and signs telling you the car ahead should be two lights distant. Video cameras monitor compliance closely. A somewhat wearying experience to drive through it, since it's 11.6 km long!
It was a day of high tolls (a total of about 90 Euros) and crazy navigation. We decided at one point to leave the toll road and forage for food in a town called Ivrea. NOT a good idea. First, it was Sunday, so nothing was open. Second, we hit a one-way section of road that precluded returning the way we came. Third, we saw what appeared to be a lot of people eating right next to a parking lot, except it turned out they were eating IN the parking lot, which was closed for some kind of festivity. So there we were, in the middle of a crowded parking lot needing to get back out. That managed, we continued on up a hill through increasingly narrow streets until we found ourselves teeing into a street entirely filled with a market. Reversing up the way we came with my bike hanging off the back of the car didn't seem such a good idea. However, we did spot two policemen approaching on foot, so we asked them what to do. They wanted to know where we wanted to go, and I said someplace else! They helped me make a 3-point turn without taking out any market stalls, and we made our way back to the autostrada. Then we ate at a highway rest stop where we should have eaten in the first place! As I always say, you can't get a bad meal in Italy, not even in a highway rest stop.
We continued uneventfully on our way, following our pre-printed instructions from Google maps. However, when we reached Bologna and followed the ring road as directed, the exit did not say anything similar to what Google maps called it. David actually guessed correctly that the target-like symbol next to the word Bologna indicated Bologna Centro (city center), but I doubted and we missed our exit. There wasn't another for miles! Finally we found a place to exit -- onto another freeway, and then exited again near the airport. At this point, we had no idea where on the map we were or, worse yet, where on the map our apartment was. We called the landlady, but her directions (in French-accented English regarding Italian street names) were pretty much incomprehensible.
Fortunately, we had borrowed a GPS from Ben mostly for bike riding, but also for situations exactly like this. Once we figured out which of three choices presented for Bologna (Bologna, BO, Bologna, AT, or Bolgona, LC) we wanted, we were able to find our address and follow the directions. Except for having left the GPS on the "bicycle" setting, which caused it to try to send us the wrong way down a one-way street, we were set. The landlady met us at the gate and helped us unpack the car, then showed me where on this tiny narrow street I could turn around, and where to park. We found a spot very close by, where we have left the car for the duration of our stay in Bologna. No WAY am I driving around this city. For one thing, you can't park or even drive anywhere inside the old city, and for another, I'd never find another parking space.
Our landlady very thoughtfully stocked the refrigerator with homemade yoghurt, milk, bread, juice, some cheese (mozzarella and fontina), and bottled water. She even baked us a typical Bolognese pastry, and showed us how to make espresso in the morning. I don't expect such service at the next two apartments! She gave us directions to take the bus to our language school and two choices for dinner. Tonight we go to the second one.

We're having fun

Bassano, Padova, Milano, Geneva

We had arranged for Matteo to pick us up at the Locanda after an early breakfast so we could catch our 8:09 train to Padova, with a final destination of Geneva, where my sister Naomi lives with her Swiss husband Vincent. Matteo had a system for avoiding the stairs down into and back out of the underpass to get to our track -- he opened a gate marked with dire warnings about the consequences of crossing the tracks, and crossed over to the platform with my bike. We followed with the rest of the luggage, and off he went. We were not arrested.
At Padova we had about half an hour's wait for our train to Milan. When an old lady and her family seemed to be struggling with getting onto our car, we went to the other end, only to discover that the other door did not work. So we got on the next car and fought our way back through two pairs of doors into our car -- where we discovered that our seats were at the far end. And the air conditioning did not work. After dragging our bike cases and suitcases thru the aisles, we collapsed into our seats. And sweated. The conductor told us we could go into the adjoining car, which we finally did, abandoning our luggage to the first takers. The next car was a refrigerator by contrast, but a welcome change. When we had to return to our car to retrieve our luggage before disembarking in Milan, it was like walking into an oven.
In Milan, we had an hour's layover, so we headed for a little restaurant for lunch. After ordering, David headed off to find our track, which was somewhat offset from the rest. Our train was already there, but there seemed to be no hurry to board. After a pretty good slice of pizza (David) and pannini (me), we hoisted my bike case onto my back again, and schlepped around the corner to our train. Our car was the farthest away (naturally), and our seats at the far end of that. It was pretty easy to find room in the luggage section for my bike case, and we hoped we could get David's between two seats that were back to back. Although it probably would have fit, the aisle was too narrow to get it turned at right angles to slide it in. Another passenger helped him lift it into the overhead rack, where it amazingly fit. Unfortunately, we were on the sunny side of the car, and although the air conditioning seemed to work, it wasn't set very low, so we were pretty warm. In addition, the bathrooms were disgusting. In both our and the neighboring cars, the sinks were so full of water that wouldn't drain that a tusnami threatened with each sway of the train.
We were very happy to find Naomi on the platform. And all the luggage fit easily into her VW station wagon, so things were looking up. She and Vincent are currently at their country house only about 15 minutes out of Geneva in a little village called Aire-la-Ville. The house was built in about 1750 and stayed in the same family until they bought it. The woman who sold it to them had turned up with her daughter just as Naomi was leaving for the station, so they were still there when we got back. Naomi filled them in on their remodeling plans, which they seemed not to be bothered by, although they had to leave so soon after we got back that she really couldn't give them much detail. By the time we get back in September, construction will have begun, so it's great to get to see it in the "before" state. Unfortunately, the wonderful quilt-like concrete tile floor in the living room cannot be saved and still put in floor heating. One interesting thing about the village is that they have a trash incineration plant that will soon provide heat for all of the houses in the village. That and a landfill are so discreetly hidden by a clump of trees that you'd scarcely know they were there. Dinner outside under the huge chestnut tree was capped off by an herisson (hedgehog) running across the lawn. We all ran over, and he rolled himself into a ball, which allowed Vincent and David to actually touch him. Before I could, he scampered off into a clump of bushes, and we never saw him again.
The next morning, we headed into Geneva to their apartment, where we could do laundry, access the internet, and copy and fax our Italian language pre-tests to the language school in Bologna where David, Nina, and I will be taking classes next week. Mostly, the latter was a farce, as neither of us (or Nina, for that matter) speaks any Italian. I could take a stab at several of the questions, although I certainly can't transform any sentences from the active to passive, or present to future, or any other such tricks. I'm sure whoever reviews my test will have a good laugh. Still it might give them an idea of whether I should start at the lowest or next-to-lowest level.
The apartment is full of really wonderful art, and some great furniture, including a clever table in the kitchen with chairs that slide right under the lip of the table to allow easy passage by the table when not in use. We went to the farmer's market a few blocks away and to a patisserie before eating a nice nicoise salad prepared by David and a tomato, mozzarella, and mango (!) salad make by Naomi back at the flat. Oh yes, and our apricot and apple tarts (one of each). On the way out of town, we stopped at a bike shop run by an ex-racer to get a couple of tubes and a patch kit for the exhorbitant price of about $25. Geneva is NOT a cheap city. In fact, David remembers that while cycling here 28 years ago, he decided not to buy any food until he was back in France.
We put the bikes back together and assembled our bike rack, which we then tested on Naomi's station wagon to make sure it was likely to work on our rental car. Another yummy meal made by Naomi, and it was time for bed.
Vincent had warned us that it might rain today, and sure enough it did. So after a leisurely breakfast, we decided to take a walk into the nature preserve close by. By then the sun was out, and the walk, if a little muddy, was quite pleasant. The highlight was a couple of enormous muddy sows with 5 piglets between them. Interestingly, one of the sows was picking up rocks and rolling them around in her mouth apparently to eat the dirt off them before spitting them out again. Strange. The return was right along the Rhone river. Bread and cheese with our fig salsa (yum!!) and salad for lunch, a little more fussing with the bikes, and we headed off for a short ride under regathering clouds. David was delighted to pass not only a llama (so the ride was by definition a success), but also an alpaca in the same field. It began to sprinkle about half an hour into the ride, and we decided to cut it short. After climbing up to a lovely village called Dardagny that was full of wine-tasting opportunities (not taken), we made a U-turn and headed back through Russin, just across the dam from Aire-la-Ville. By now it was raining harder, but not enough to be uncomfortable. And here we are again, preparing to eat again. I'm definitely going to have to go on a diet when we get back.

Montello and Folina

I was pretty beat after the Asiago plateau, so despite the seductions of the almond cookie ride (which also starts with part of the Asiago climb), we voted for a flatter ride. We had settled on the Montello ride, only to have George announce in the morning that the Montello ride made no sense on a Monday because the bakery with the wonderful whole wheat croissants with honey was closed on Monday. So we reviewed all the options and settled on Montello without the bakery. This seemed to put George's nose out of joint and made him kind of cranky all day, but the ride was well worth it. Lots of tiny lanes and countryside, very little urban riding, and at one point we were following along an irrigation canal on a deserted bike path. Very scenic and quite pleasant. Although the canonical bakery was closed, we found an acceptable patisserie, followed closely by a bar where we had our coffees. We have discovered yet another variation on espresso: a macchiatone, which is a macchiato with slightly more milk, but less than a cappuccino. Just about perfect. Then back to the Laconda for lunch. By this time we were beginning to be amazed at George's consistency in leading the rides at 13.1 +/- 0.1 mph average, regardless of distance or terrain. We almost always got back to the Laconda at 1:00 give or take about 5 minutes. At lunch we discussed going into Bassano del Grappa to look for shoe glue (the sole of my 7 year old Diadoras had separated at the heel on one side), an Italian/English dictionary, and something to bring Vincent and Naomi in Geneva. George announced that there was no point going into town on a Monday, as everything was closed on Mondays. However, given that we had to disassemble our bikes the next afternoon and then leave the following morning, we had little choice.
We caught the bus into town, checked the return schedule and then walked into town. True, many things were closed, but enough were open to make it worthwhile. We thoroughly explored the old part of town within the old walls, including the famous wood and stone bridge by Palladio that is dedicated to the Alpinists who have always revered the bridge and arranged for its rebuilding after it was destroyed in WWII. One end lands in an area of town dedicated to ceramics shops, as well as a gelateria that makes a really mean affogato (gelato drowned in espresso). The best yet. A touristy shop at the foot of the bridge yielded a nice compact Italian/English dictionary. We found a hardware store and bought what I think was contact cement (seems to have done the trick on my shoe). We also bought some local cheese, a fig "salsa", and some almond cookies for Naomi and Vincent.
Jennifer wanted to go to the Giusegi clothing factory, which didn't interest me (David's always up for shopping), so we had decided to climb Monte Grappa the next morning. However, Jennifer turned out to be too tired to ride and Mark was more interested in going to Folina than in climbing the mountain. Since Mark characterized this as a "must do" ride, we changed our plans. George was in a better mood and rode his bike for the second day in a row. Once we got to the climb, he suggested David ride on ahead while he rode with me. We actually had a nice chat, and he had gone so far as telling us how to recognize the coffee stop after the descent, so we didn't have to stay on his wheel for the descent. David and Mark had stopped on the climb to take pictures, and I dropped George on the descent, so I was the first to the coffee stop. Which was closed. If nothing else, this is the ICC trip of the unexpected closures. However, there was a bar only a block away with a very welcoming owner with Fiat 500 rally trophies all over the place. After coffee, we climbed the hill to a 14th century Cistercian monastery that was really impressive. We were the only ones there, and walking into the cloister immediately made one feel quiet and contemplative. This was about the 3rd church on the spot, and the altar contained a statue of the madonna and child from a previous version several centuries older than the current church. The architecture was all pointy arches and soaring columns. George pointed out the grille where monks who were ill could hear mass without having to come down into the church. Back in the cloister, there was an interesting set of before and after pictures of the restoration of the monastery. Apparently at some point the Venetians banned the Cistercians and the monastery became housing for peasants. In 1927? the church as rededicated and restored. We finally tore ourselves away and headed back.The forecast for the day was for rain in the afternoon, and the heat and humidity were really getting oppressive. Even relatively small climbs sent my heart rate too high. We were happy to get home, but this may have been the prettiest ride of them all.
At lunch we were joined by Keith, a South African who has lived in the US for 35 years, and who has spent many long visits at the ICC. He seems to be being groomed as the heir apparent at the ICC. He's a very nice, personable chap, so this bodes well. After lunch and a short nap, there was nothing for it but to disassemble our bikes and pack them. Yet another trip the ICC was drawing to a close.

ICC, Asiago plateau and Rubbio

George arranged for Jennifer to ride with Edda this morning, while we followed George on his scooter back along the way we had finished yesterday's ride. This included riding by the walls of Marostica, an amazing city that continued to be contained entirely within its walls until after WWII. This time, we just stopped and let George wait for us as we took pictures. Yesterday we had ridden in one gate and out the other, but today, we skirted along outside the gates, then followed them where they turn improbably up a very steep hillside. At the bottom, George demanded that we each empty out one water bottle, as it was unnecessary to carry so much extra weight -- there is a water stop only 7 km or so up the climb. What a control freak. But he was right. We stopped with a gaggle of the cyclists who had passed us on the climb, refilled, and continued to climb (and to be passed). At one point, David realized that to that point we had recapitulated the famous "Almond Cookie Ride" he and Ben, but not I, had been on three years before. David asked George whether we would be passing thru Conco, the home of the famous cookies, but George said, no, we had to either turn that way and make it into the Almond Cookie Ride, or turn the other and go up the plateau. At the decision point, seeing how slow I was, he asked if I wanted to shorten the ride, or continue up to the town just above us, and then about 5.5 km more climbing. I wanted to do the climb. We stopped at another water fountain in the town where there was practically gridlock between cars, cyclists, and pedestrians. In the end it was rather a lot more than 5.5 km (even George admitted that they seem to have added some climbing) and pretty tough in the heat, even though it was considerably cooler at that altitude than down below. Just when I felt like I could climb no more, we reached the top. And it was worth it. We continued across the Asiago plateau, which is wonderfully pastoral with cows with large bells, small farms, and miles of lush farm and countryside on either side. At the end of the plateau, we stopped for coffee (make it fast, sez George, we're running behind), and then dropped down a descent to die for (or, if you're not careful, on). I was having trouble not riding up George's wheel, especially on the tight tornante (hairpin turns), so I passed him. We soon reached an intersection, and it was pretty obvious which way we had to go (follow the signs to Bassano del Grappa), but we waited for George, and waited, and waited. Later he explained that he thought we had turned down a steep dead-end descent, but eventually decided he should ride ahead and check. Back behind him through switchback after switchback, and we were back at the main road. George had announced at coffee that we had to eat at another restaurant owned by Silvia, the proprietor of the Laconda, because the Laconda was closed for lunch today. This restaurant was about 5 km from home, close to our usual endgame route for most rides. We got there before Jennifer and Edda, mostly because George had forgotten to warn them about the change of restaurants and had also forgotten to bring his cellphone along so he could tell them. Silvia was there and drove her cute little Smart car up to the Locanda, where she picked up Jennifer, leaving Edda, who lives close to the other restaurant, to ride back down. Lunch was just as good as what we are used to, although George groused that there was no salad bar (they brought us perfectly nice mixed salads). My prima piatta of rice salad was so filling (and GOOD) that I cancelled my order for the seconda piatta. For dessert they pressed lemon sorbettos on us, whether we wanted them or not (Jennifer didn't, and Edda had already left, so we ended up with 5 to consume between the 3 of us). This was not a hardship. A sorbetto in this neck of the woods is a lovely concoction of ice cream or some other soft cream mixed with prosecco, the local sparkling wine. This one really took me back to Christmas morning with my first in-laws. My father-in-law used to make a really deadly (and yummy) gin fizz. This was rather like, although fortunately not as alcoholic. Nonetheless, after 2 glasses of white wine -- I seem to be able to drink wine again! - and 1.5 sorbetti, I nearly created a catastrophe on the way home. We had to do a quick left-right across a busy street, and I just did not see the motorcycle on my left. David squeaked, I braked, the motorcycle swerved (and missed the car coming in the opposite direction), and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Don't drink and bike.

ICC, Lake ride and Villa Coldogno

When we had just finished eating dinner after our first day here, another person showed up to the Italian Cycling Center. Jennifer had been here earlier, then left for 10 days in Turkey, and is now back for another 6 days. We decided we'd do the "Lake Ride" which she loves and which I had messed up on last time I was here. We had a biggish group that time, and Ben's brother-in-law Casey, one or two other people, and I found ourselves between the faster lead group, led by Pat, an ex-pat American, and the slower group led by Yvonne, the American woman who was helping George run the ICC while his leg was broken. Pat and her group (including David) turned across a funky wooden bridge, and we rode blithely by thinking there was no way anyone would go over that. They saw us from the other side, but no amount of yelling caught our attention. Eventually, Pat turned back and followed the route we took (which turned out to be the return route), and took us backwards up the ride to the coffee stop at the lake. So we never saw the climb that should have been the first half of the ride. I was determined to do it right this time. So off we went, being met first by a very nice Italian woman named Edda, then, at the bus stop where so many ICC rides regroup, by Pat, her husband Leopoldo, an Italian ex-racer, and Gianluca, a very nice young Italian kid (late teens or early 20's). We set off as a group, but I soon had a flat, followed by a tube that split at the stem. George and Jennifer continued ahead, while the others waited (somewhat impatiently after the stem failure) for us. I think Leopoldo was not amused by David's refusing his CO2 cartridge and insisting on pumping up the tire by hand. Anyway, we continued on...PAST the infamous bridge. I quickly spoke up and asked why we hadn't turned, and Pat said Leopoldo preferred the other way. I explained that the whole POINT of the ride was to do it as advertised, and they reluctantly turned back. I think Leopoldo was annoyed at me, so he rode as slowly as he could across the rickety bridge. I thought I wouldn't be able to stay upright, but I was determined not to let him win, so I made it. Then he took off at a breakneck pace, which I also gamely matched. That split our group effectively, as Pat had planned a restroom stop, and David's bottle flew out of its cage for the first of several times that day. Eventually, Gianluca caught us and told Leopoldo that the others had dropped (Leopoldo speaks little English, and besides I didn't have extra breath to try). The climb under overhanging rock in lovely shade (by now it was in the upper 80's) was worth the hassle. We found George right where Pat had asked Gianluca to take us on the scenic detour, so the Italian contingent left us there, and we continued with George and Jennifer. Another wooden bridge that amazingly had been used for cars until recently, a stop in the middle of the lake to admire the view, a quick push on foot up a very steep rocky path, and then back across the "new bridge" and we were at the coffee stop. The descent takes you by some WWII fortifications built into the hill, and then we were back along the Brenta bikepath we like so well. At one point, we stopped George and made him tell us more about the Covolo di buttistone, a large cave visible across the river and across the highway, halfway up the cliff. This cage was used since feudal times as part of a fortification with castle that controlled traffic up the Brenta River. In WWII (or was it I?) it was used as a munitions storehouse. It's really huge, allowing a large number of troops to shelter inside. One can climb up to it via a steep flight of a lot of steps, and one of these trips, I'm going to do it.
The next day, we decided to go to the Villa Coldogno, which George says is interesting because the frescoes depict typical villa life at the time of their painting. It is only open on Saturday mornings (and Friday afternoons, it turns out, but George does not ride in the afternoon), so we decided we should do it on Saturday. This time, George led on his motor scooter, which we had heard about from Casey who was here earlier in the summer. He drove fairly fast, which David and I could keep up with (sort of), but we kept dropping Jennifer. I finally caught him where he waited for Jennifer and me to catch up after being caught at a long light, and I told him that it was one thing to ride the scooter to make it easier on himself, but quite another to use it to turn into Leopoldo. After that, he drove at a more moderate pace. We stopped in front of a couple of villas on the way (George said it was really a 3 villa ride, although in the end, we saw about 6), and then pulled into the courtyard of the Villa Coldogno. Unfortunately, it was closed for August vacation, although the website had not mentioned this. They allowed us to go through a couple of gates and look at (the outside of) a WWII bunker set into a hill. Then we went to the bar across the road and had our coffee and croissants. On the way back, George seemed a bit lost a couple of times (we had all voted for the shorter, more scenic, less highway-shoulder way back, so I don't think he does this often), but when we arrived back at the Locanda for lunch, it was exactly the 60 miles he represented the ride to be. It had been a really hot day, with lots of humidity, so it wasn't surprising that it rained a bit after lunch. Ride, eat, sleep. This is getting to be a habit.