Lucca Murabilia

Here's a tip from the middle ages:  if you're not on a hill then you'd better have walls that are thick, sturdy, and tall.   Remember those siege machines?  and the wars between the city states?

Now that the Lucchese are not worried about the invading hordes, but instead welcoming them, charging them for parking, and selling them souvenirs, the top of the walls has been turned into a lovely tree-lined park.  

And once a year, on top of the walls Lucca has a huge garden festival.  Lucca Murabilia.  We're here at just the right time.  

Fruit - flower arranging people, check out this cool display.  If it works for fruit it should work for flowers...

 Hung from fishing line, swaying softly in the breeze.

 There are so many citrus!  Some I've never seen before, some I grow at home.  Sad I can't take some new ones home.

 I find Will Godwin clematis, an old friend.  Thank God for Latin plant names, the universal language of botany.

 There are huge piles of local small- production cheeses, complete with tastings and sales. 

 We buy several that are like nothing I've ever tasted, and I am a cheese hound.  I wrote the names down somewhere...

And the fruit!  Also for sale.  All local, all delicious.  It is the height of peach season, and they are fantastic, like peaches with the volume turned up.

We lunch in a Michelin starred restaurant with locals and their dogs, tourists and their guidebooks.  All presided over by a woman who looks like an aging Paris model in a very tight, very expensive  dress.  Sorry, no photos.  Guess why.

On the way home we wander the streets, in and out of tiny stores, most selling only one thing: bread, wine, cured meats, cheeses.    The best bread in Lucca is right next door, and you can hear the bakers talking and smell the yeast at 4 a.m.  When they roll up the door at 5:45 you can hear the tapping of feet, people calling soft greetings to each other as most of Lucca descends on the shop for their daily bread.

And you have to know the timing:  sweet things come out first, then the delicious bread with hazelnuts and plump raisins.  The focaccia comes out about 10:30 - try the one with zucchini, cheese and poppy seeds.  Carolyn loves the onion.  I'm tempted by something big and glossy and sticky, full of raisins.  We carry paper wrapped loaves home, still warm from the oven.

At a small meat and cheese shop around the corner, a tiny woman is getting her groceries.  We say buona sera, and wait patiently, tempted by the prosciutto hanging from a rack and the stacks of cheeses behind the glass.  But when the butcher brings out a small rabbit, missing only his skin and his innards (oh, and his ears), smacks him on his back on his counter and proceeds to whack at him with a dull cleaver that doesn’t cut him up but only makes  him hop off the counter, we give up and run for home.  

Differences

Things work a bit differently here.  We reserved a big car (well, big for here; it would probably be eaten by a suburban back home) and when we go to spot # 40 this is what we find.  

The tiniest one.  A car so miniscule you don't so much get in it as put it on.  Like a jacket.  Fortunately our key beeped open the big car next door.  Wrong spot number, but we didn't ask any questions, we just jumped in and zoomed off.  So far so good.

Biking thru the city, trying to find a way out - why are all the streets one way?  And not our way? we ride past a group of old people talking in the middle of a parking lot, the men leaning on bikes, a lady standing next to her car.  Thru sign language and our pidgin Italian we get that we ride up the walls, then down, then make several loops (sign language has its limitations) and we're out.  We hope.

One of the group, an older lady with chestnut brown hair and matching eyebrows has left her car, door open and engine off, blocking a lane in the parking lot.   When a man pulls up behind and honks - once - she waves and says "Si, Si! Ha ragione!" which means "Yes, you're right!"  And she gets back in her car - slowly, remember she's old - and trundles off.  No festival of honking, no screaming, no recrimination.  I can't imagine that happening in the Farmers' Market parking lot in Danville, and it's a lot more crowded here.

We have a washing machine in our apartment, but nobody has a dryer.  I think they must be illegal - it is illegal here to heat your house, except for November thru April, and even then only to 20 degrees.  Celsius, not Fahrenheit - thank goodness.  I wonder - do they have heat police?  We do, however, have lovely air conditioning.  Go figure.

So back to the washer: I look and look for laundry soap, and I finally find a bottle that has a picture of clothes on it.  Yay!  I wash a load - looks pretty good.  Then I start thinking...I found that bottle with the housecleaning supplies.  I open it - sniff - yup.  Bleach.  Oops.  I washed all our clothes with bleach.  But they look okay, and eventually I find a store that sells all kinds of soap, including laundry soap - IperSoap.

One evening as a chatting couple stroll past our table at an outdoor restaurant, somebody in our party says "Hey, I can understand them!"   "Yeah," Wally says.  "They're speaking English."

Sitting at another outdoor cafe (there are lots, and most of them are pretty good) the pigeons are so aggressive they knock over the wineglass of the woman sitting next to us trying to get to her peanuts and potato chips.  We flap them away, and hang on to our peanuts and potato chips.  Altho you should always be suspicious of a potato chip that bends...  As we are sitting and sipping, two people with red flags and Notte di Lucca tee-shirts begin to direct runners - and walkers - to turn the corner by our table.  At first a trickle, then a stream, then a torrent of runners and walkers go by, some in team shirts, some in full race spandex, some in what look like their jammies.  

It's a once a year charity run.  Tourists with strollers think they're being told to turn too, and the narrow street is soon choked with bicycles and strollers and runners, and we laugh and say"This can't get any denser!" and then a car comes.  From the opposite direction.  It gets denser.  But no yelling, no irritation.  I guess if you live in a town with this many tourists you either learn to live with it or you move.  

Part of the genius of Italy is blending the old

with the new. 

 We fit right in.

Cinque Terre

You can do the Cinque Terre in one day, but it's not easy.  We hire Paola to guide us, and when we get to the train station and see the flocks of English and American tourists trying to find their way through the tunnels and to the right platform, we are so happy.  Heck, we wouldn't have found the train station without Paola.  

When we give up our seats to get off in Rio Maggiore and we see the seething mass of humanity trying to get on the train we just got off, we think we've made a terrible mistake.  But Paola walks us thru yet another tunnel into the town:

and thru the maze to the harbor.

And when we get on the next train to the next town, Manarola,  it's not nearly as crowded.

The streets are steep:

And crowded.  But apparently it's worse when the cruise ships are in.  And clearly the staff lives above this sandwich shop - you can tell by the aprons hanging out to dry.

It's a gorgeous day, people are sunning and swimming from the rocks

and the narrow beaches

 You can walk, kayak, train or boat between most of the villages - there was a torrential storm with mudslides in 2012 and the path between Rio Maggiore and Manarola is still closed. 

  We boat and train between the towns, and lunch at Belforte in Vernazza.  Perched high on the rocks above the crowded town, with a fabulous view of the harbor, we dine up three flights of rock and steel stairs, on a rock terrace with a 360 degree view.  

Never would have found it without help, the town is a maze of tunnels and stairs.  Thank you Paola.  

Great food, I don't like anchovies but these were delicious:

and Fritto Misto

 Took this boat to Monterossa al Mare, 

into a beautiful harbor, and a town full of tourists.  The Americans are easy to spot, they look like giant seagulls in squishy white shoes.  

On the way we passed strange looking rental boats - part pedal boat, part water slide - complete with bathing beauties.  It's all about the sea.

On the way home we can see Carrara, the marble mountains rising white like snow covered alps behind the town.  This is where the marble for Michelangelo's David came from, and they waste nothing.  The marble dust is put into the local toothpaste.  And there is a special kind of lard, Colonata, that is mixed with herbs, salt and pepper, and then aged in Carrara marble.  If we see it in the stores we are so trying it.  Wonder what the cardiologists here have to say about it. 

Home to Lucca Lucca.  Exhausted.  Happy.

Lucca Lucca

There are two Luccas,  Lucca dentro, inside the ancient walls (the locals call it Lucca Lucca) 

and Lucca Fuore, the Lucca outside the walls; roomier, greener, but with less history and charm. 

Our apartment is on a tiny medieval street in Lucca Lucca: this is out our window.  Note the guy on his telefonino - everyone is always on their telefonino.  On their bikes, in their cars, walking...it's a miracle there are no collisions when the streets fill with pedestrians and bikes (and the occasional car despite the myth that Lucca Dentro is a pedestrian-only zone), all on their phones, but so far so good.

We joke that by law all the shutters are painted dark green.  And all the windows have shutters.  All.  We're in a great location, but being on the first floor (the second to Americans) on such a narrow street, surrounded by four story buildings so close you can almost reach across the street and hold hands with your neighbor, it's a bit dark.  We're in a canyon.

Spacious, modern and comfortable, great kitchen,

and with room for bikes. 

Giusto, the best bakery in Lucca is next door,

So it takes us a while to get going in the morning.

But eventually we get to Chrono bikes - crowded, warm and welcoming, fabulous Pinarello bikes outfitted with Campy for rent, and run by the winner of the Steve Baillie look-alike contest. 

The owner is the fastest mechanic in the west, knows by looking at us our size and seat height, has our pedals on in one minute, maps out routes for us, and we're on our way.  (Apparently he's had customers even older than we are.)

Thankfully there are dozens of cyclists out - the map is a little unclear on how to get out of the city.  But with some help we make it and are in spectacular rolling countryside.

Michael Balaban wants to buy a vowel...who knew there was a village in Italy named for him?

We ride to Lago Montecciuccolo, miss a turn and suddenly it's steep and lorries are thundering by.  

We survive.  Great day.

On The Way

"On this flight there is absolutely no smocking," the flight attendant announces.  So those of you who had planned to do a little hand sewing, perhaps something for your granddaughter?  You're out of luck.  

Love that A380.  It can take up  to 853 passengers, but with all the business class seats this one is more like 500.  And that's plenty.  Especially at the baggage carousel.

Upstairs it's so quiet you can hear your seat mate's motor as he reclines.  And in business class, reclining is not an act of aggression toward your neighbor.

The next leg of our trip: not so much.  The only amenity in this business class is an empty seat next to you.  Good thing, because the seats are the size of kiddie booster seats, with about as much charm - and leg room, and the seats don't recline.  At all.  That would solve the current controversy raging in the US about reclining your seat.

As we land in Florence and taxi toward the terminal, there is a turbo-prop sitting just off the runway at a drunken angle, wings tilted and nose slightly down.  As we get closer you can see the taxiway ends about 50 feet short of where the plane sits - oops - and grass is growing around the plane.  I'd love to know the story behind that.

 The window in our hotel is small, but the view is spectacular.  I expect to see Brunelleschi sticking his head out a nearby window to admire his dome.  This could be 500 years ago.

Except for the crowds.  And their costumes.  

And the tourists on Segways.  With e-cigarettes.  Doesn't get more modern than this.

And of course there are all the touristy things.  Pickpockets and policemen working the crowds.  The pickpockets are much more active than the police, but the police are better dressed.

There are horse drawn carriages that look more like Dickens' London than Michelangelo's Firenze.  

Flower decked bicycles

and swirled towers of gelato.

 And the most beautiful leather goods.

Wally and I are rocking our Italian, gaining more confidence - until I ask in a restaurant in my best Italian for a table for two outside, and the hostess is off to the races.  I get that I should ask the boys outside; the rest is lost.  But the next day, walking down the street, a couple passes, and we hear him say (in Italian) "Not if you gave me a sack of money!"  We understand the idiom thanks to Gina and her fabulous Italian class.  And we've discovered we're not afraid to speak, to try, to laugh when we mess up.  

We find a florist selling weird and wonderful seeds:

And see the long and short of driving in medieval Florence.  

Safety tip:  pick the car that's easier to park.   It will also fit down the narrow streets without having to use the sidewalk.  Not that they don't all use the sidewalk as an extra lane....

We cross the river to eat at Camillo on Borgo San Iacopo, and besides the best meal we've had, we meet the most interesting people.  She is a classical Indian dancer; he is a handbag designer and has an atelier in Florence.  Corto Moltedo handbags.  Fabulous, and yes you can buy them on line.  

There are little boys learning how to row:

And skilled scullers, so fast they are beneath you almost before you can fire up your camera.

It's a magical modern medieval zoo.