2nd MAY, 2010 MELBOURNE
I had spent the night with Ursula and Manfred so it was an easy drive to the airport. The anxiety and foreboding about the trip all but vanished when I had my bags checked in almost three hours early. I walked around the airport made my usual last minute calls to Mum and Dad, Barry, Joshua and Becka and then waited with the hoards.
The plane was a huge A380 seating 450 people and took ages to board. I was in row 88, the very last and in the middle of the middle row. After a polite, brief acknowledgement of the people on either side of me (I had no desire to get a seven hour version of anyone’s life story), I started reading my flight magazine. As we began to taxi along the runway, I had the sudden sensation of dropping blood pressure that used to signal the onset of palpitations. This was followed by a sick feeling, so I put away my glasses and magazine and tried to do some deep breathing to restore my vitals and had what felt like a ‘stitch’. The stitch quickly developed into a sensation of being crushed in the chest and burning, as if I’d been shot by a cannon ball. I tried to use biorhythms to break the cycle but the next thing I knew, people were gathered around and shaking me and asking if I was OK. The passengers on both sides of me had pressed the emergency buttons because apparently I had gone as stiff as a board, threw my arms over my head and started convulsing.
My first thought was that I’d developed epilepsy and that now I would be seeing neurologists instead of cardiologists, and I was rather annoyed. The plane had been cruising all over the airport as it had aborted the flight path once they’d discovered a medical emergency. The captain called for a doctor to assist and suddenly I was surrounded by them – men, women, Chinese, Indian, Orthodox Jews, American and Australian. Finally two of them agreed to attend to me. As soon as I was asked had I experienced chest pain, I knew what it was and denied it. I did my best to convince them that I’d had an anxiety attack because I’m not used to flying and was so scared that I hadn’t slept all night. My blood pressure was 90/60 and I told them that it was always low and that I was feeling much better. They seemed to be wavering but ultimately it was the captain’s decision. I became nauseous and threw up and apparently that was then last straw and so we had to wait for a gate to open so that they could offload me. When that finally happened, I had to walk the gauntlet of 449 passengers and crew all craning their necks to have a good look at ‘the trouble maker’. By the time they located my luggage in the hold the plane was two hours late in taking off. I hate to think of all the missed connections!
There were at least a dozen people waiting at the door for me – airport security, passport control, the Qantas manager, the crews that bring out the stairs and open the doors, an of course, the ambulance people. I kept insisting that I was ok and the qantas manager said that if I checked out ok he might be able to get me on a flight at 11:30 pm. The first thing the Ambos wanted to do after checking out my vitals (which were now high) was to give me an ECG. At that point I felt the need to ‘fess up’ about my heart ablation in February and took a punt that they wouldn’t be all that familiar with how that procedure might effect my ongoing vitals. They wanted to take me to the hospital, but I knew that then they’d do a blood test and there is an eight hour wait for the one that determines heart damage. Maybe they’d even make me cancel the trip altogether.
The Ambulance offices pointed out that weekends in emergency departments in Melbourne were a crowded nightmare with drunks, drug overdoses and victims of street fighting swelling the numbers. They suggested that I go to my own doctor (not likely that I’d do the round trip to Rye – especially without a car!) and the last option was to go to a local clinic. I really liked that idea because I know the type of locums that would likely in an Essendon clinic on a Sunday night.
Ursula and Manfred kindly came to get me and to take me to the clinic. I was sure that Ursula would hold me up after she started making lots of noise and demands that I be seen first because I had a plane to catch. It was coldly pointed out to her that everyone who goes to a clinic on a Sunday night has an emergency!
As I had hoped, the doctor, an ageing Vietnamese, Dr. Ng, seemed to be quite incompetent. He studied the ECG and didn’t seem to understand it. He tried to get the nurse to give me another one and there was a stand up fight because it wasn’t in the job description – she was only hired as a receptionist. Clearly, the old boy hadn’t worked there before and clearly, he couldn’t administer an ECG himself. So he just took my blood pressure, which thankfully by this time were at my normal levels. 120/70 with a heart rate of 72. He listened to my heart and my story which he clearly bought. He wrote the Medical Certificate saying that I was fit to fly and then I just had to convince Ursula and Manfred to take me back to the airport rather than their house for the night. I doubted that I’d get on the 11:30 flight but I just wanted to sort out my ticket, have a shower and go to bed.
The sales desk gave me a whole set of new problems. The 11:30 flight could only take me as far as Hong Kong. The same flight the next day didn’t have any frequent flyer seats left and Head Office wasn’t happy with my letter from the doctor because it wasn’t on the correct form. They put me on the phone to the woman in the Head Office who harangued me for delaying the flight for two hours and wanted to know what guarantee Qantas had that it wouldn’t happen again tomorrow. I was very distressed but willed myself to remain calm and apologetic. “This has never happened to me before, I’m really sorry about the delay. I didn’t want to get off the plane.” She scolded me that I was offloaded for my own good. The doctors were concerned what would happen to me once we were airborne and the cabin pressure changed. Good point!
She didn’t want to OK the medical certificate and said that she’d have to contact the Chief Qantas doctor. So I waited for ninety minutes on a hard chair before getting the OK. I was conscious of the fact that I hadn’t eaten for nearly twelve hours but all the airport food on offer looked disgusting. I finally settled on a chicken and salad sandwich.
I was also worried about Kerry’s reaction when I didn’t turn up for our planned meetings in either Changi or Heathrow. I sent her a text and when I went to an internet booth to check airport hotel prices, I put a post on Facebook so that others would know what had happened too. In the end, I couldn’t care less about the price of the room and I paid $220 for one at the airport Holiday Inn (the Hilton was $320!).
I hadn’t been in my room long when Kiri called (bless her) and so I asked her to put an abbreviated version of what had happened on Facebook because I didn’t have the energy to do it myself. I had the chance to talk to Barry and told him about the chest pain. He was concerned and wanted me to contact my cardiologist. My retort was that that he didn’t have the right to expect me to ‘obey’ until we had exchanged those vows. Then I’d do anything that he asked!
3rd MAY – MELBOURNE TO ROME
I had a good sleep and a hearty breakfast before crossing the street to the airport. The Sales Office has my tickets ready and had arranged for me to have aisle seats ‘in case I needed attention’ and slightly forward of the Frequent Flyer seats right at the back. Joshua called me while I was going through passport control and so I rang him straight back. He seemed very cool at first and despite only reading what I had written on Facebook – just saying that I’d had a medical problem and been offloaded, and Kiri adhering to my request and simply adding that I felt unwell and had lost consciousness momentarily, he immediately diagnosed a heart attack. I’d had a pretty good idea that that’s what it was, but he explained that my ‘convulsion’ which the ambo’s had called a hypo something or other, a convulsion completely different from my feared epilepsy, caused by low blood pressure and Dr. Ng had explained as an anxiety attack, was actually my body kick starting my stopped heart in much the same way that doctors use ‘the paddle’ when a patient doesn’t do it automatically after a heart attack. He suspected that had the cabin decompressed after takeoff, I’d be dead!!: very sobering!
It’s strange that I had been feeling unusually apprehensive and legitimately anxious about this trip. I presumed that it was because I was fretting about the uncomfortable and long flight. The Cathay flight to Vietnam was almost unbearable because the seats didn’t recline at all and there was not even a footrest. Even so, I chided myself for the sense of dread that I couldn’t shake off. Now I wonder if I’d had a premonition!
I was delighted to find that the plane was the same beautiful new aircraft (airbus) that I’d been offloaded from complete with wonderful ergonomic seats that RECLINED and foot rest baskets and numerous ‘help yourself’ refreshment stations.
The plane was delayed for an hour because of an engineering problem, which caused me to cringe anew at the thought of the erstwhile passengers that had been inconvenienced because of me the day before. I loved having an aisle seat compared to being stuck in the middle of the row originally and the movies were great. ‘It’s Complicated’ with Meryl Streep and ‘Crazy Heart’ with Jeff Bridges.
Our stop in Changi was reduced because of our late departure but when we rebordead I found that Qantas, (who are now my favourite airline), had given me three seats all to myself for the twelve hour flight! After dinner I reclined flat with three pillows and had at least seven hours sleep.
I had to pick up my boarding pass to Rome at Heathrow and at first the crew was afraid that I wouldn’t make it to terminal 5 in time for my flight and warned me that if I did, my luggage might not be loaded. I DID make the flight, but my luggage didn’t.
Tuesday 4th MAY, 2010 – ROME
Looking at the bedraggled and over-burdened passengers on the Rome airport train, I was actually rather pleased to be unencumbered and even more so when I had to navigate the long honeycombed passage-ways through to the crowded metro. I got on two different metros (signage is almost non-existent), trudging from one side of Termini Roma station to the other before I finally found the right one. My swollen feet were really sore when I arrived at the Casa Accoglienza Paolo VI Piccole Suore Familia on Viale Vatico, 92. This was the convent attached to the Vatican where had decided to stay in Rome. It had come to my attention that with dropping numbers of priests and nuns being ordained, the Church had become very proactive about utilising their now almost empty convents and monasteries. These buildings were in some of the best locations in Italy and this was was no exception.
I managed enough Italian to explain to the nuns that my suitcase was lost but that British Airways would deliver it to them later that afternoon. The youngest nun was close to sixty and the other ones were probably in their eighties. They were quite stooped but nonetheless spry. I was delighted with my ‘cell’ as the nuns’ rooms were called. It was small but had a very good bed, a small side table and an extremely modern, renovated, en-suite bathroom. Unfortunately there were no amenities provided. British Airlines had advised me that if for any reason my luggage didn’t turn up that day then I would be entitled to go out and buy toiletries and a change of clothes. I decided that the best option would be to walk over to Kerry and Paul’s hotel and ask for some soap and a clean pair of socks. I hadn’t had a shower for 48 hours and I felt really grubby. They were staying at a hotel overlooking The Forum and it was only about an inch away on the map…! I made the bad decision to walk.
After walking for half an hour, I stopped and sat down to take my shoes off and was horrified to discover that they were bleeding. Stigmata! I noticed that I was very close to the hop-on-hop-off bus stop and so purchased a two day ticket and enjoyed a tour of Rome and was dropped off directly in front of Kerry and Paul’s hotel near the Forum. Equipped with a cake of soap and a fresh pair of airline socks, I took the bus back to the Vatican to freshen up. I was starting to feel SO excited and thrilled to be in this beautiful city.
There had been no luggage delivered to the convent so after showering and changing my socks, I took myself off to buy toiletries, underwear and a new outfit. I just loved the fashions in Rome, so a I decided that I’d need a second new outfit for the next day and hope that British Airways would reimburse me even if my luggage arrived first thing in the morning. Then I took advantage of my Hop-on-Hop-off bus ticket and went for a longer tour of this magnificent city.
I had scoured trip advisor and come up with a promising restaurant very close to Kerry and Paul’s hotel. La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali, was located in a narrow little street, strung with lights. There were pretty flower boxes in the windows and it was quite small with only about ten tables set up with checked tablecloths. Especially as most of the other diners were Italian, it looked promising and the promise was certainly fulfilled. I had an absolutely delicious Osso Bucco and Kerry and Paul seemed pleased with their choices as well.
5th MAY, 2010 – ROME
Kerry joined me for another bus ride and we stopped off to take a closer look at some of those sites that we heard so much about. While Paul is most interested in the Antiquities, Kerry and I were keen to see the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, and of course, the shops! I was really loving every minute of it and felt a bit sad that we were leaving the next morning for Sorrento, but I knew that I had a few days up my sleeve at the end of the trip, so I’d be back.
We went back to Termini Station to book our train tickets for the next day in advance to save any last minute hassles. Kerry and Paul decided to book first class tickets, so I did the same. Kerry and I were goggle eyed over the great shops at the train station. My luggage STILL hasn’t arrived, so I bought yet another new outfit and more underwear along with a cheap oversized handbag to store all my new things. I had an oh so wonderful meal in a trattoria close to the Vatican and was so entertained by people watching that I wasn’t in the least concerned about eating alone. We will have an early start in the morning in order to get to Sorrento and still have time to explore the town. I made a phone call to British Airways to give them my address in Sorrento and they assured me that my luggage would be delivered to me there within 24 hours.
6th MAY, 2010 – SORRENTO
It didn’t take too long to find the correct platform at Termi station and Kerry and Paul were already on board. The ninety minute train trip to Naples was uneventful other than the discovery just before we arrived, that despite paying for first class seats, we had been sitting in second class. I thought that the carriage was pretty good, anyway. Walking through the train station at Naples and making our way to the regional train platform was rather disconcerting. Threatening looking people had me clutching my bag close and the large presence of police and police dogs, didn’t make me feel any more secure. If the second class carriage of the high speed, trentitalia train was pretty good, the regional train from Naples to Sorrento was appalling. The train was very crowded and there were no seats available. It was difficult enough to keep our balance and not intrude on the space of fellow travellers as it was, but when the driver picked up speed to such a dangerous degree that every time he took a corner, we felt that he might derail, things became really scary. Kerry was not alone in being too short to reach the straps and several people were being flung around while desperately trying to hang on to a companion while luggage was similarly out of control. It was with an incredible sense of relief that we finally disembarked and wearily made our way out of Sorrento station.
Sorrento turned out to have a dramatic cliff top setting overlooking the Bay of Naples and beyond to Mt Vesuvius. While Kerry and Paul were staying at the more upmarket, Hotel La Solara, I had booked into Hotel del Mare, a small but lovely hotel located in a little fishing village at the base of the town of Sorrento. The Hotel La Solara was located three kilometres from town but offered courtesy bus that ran regularly to and from Sorrento. My hotel was only a fifteen minute walk from the train station and given that I had no luggage to speak of, I was quite prepared to soak in the atmosphere. I was already in love with Sorrento and the beautiful shops and restaurants. So my plan was to check into Del Mare and if there was no luggage waiting for me, to go straight back up the hill and buy myself something new to wear to dinner. I had started to get very accustomed to all this unusual spending and enjoying the lovely clothes on offer.
The walk down to the village was steep but very charming. The hotel, while simple, with tiled floors and spartan public areas, was scrupulously clean and my very pleasant view had the same view of Mt Vesuvius that Kerry and Paul were enjoying. My luggage had not yet arrived, so off I went again, up the steep narrow road that had been cut out of the cliff, to explore the town of Sorrento and to make another purchase.
7th MAY, 2010 – SORRENTO
Kerry met me in the morning and we enjoyed exploring the main shopping precinct, admiring the fabulous clothes, accessory shops and limoncello purveyors selling this Sorrento specialty in a multitude of variously shaped bottles. We came to love this delicious lemon liqueur and drank it regularly throughout the trip. We then wandered around the delightful, winding, cobblestoned laneways just behind the Piazza Tasso and stumbled upon an unexpected and seemingly inexplicable site. Almost obscured by greenery, we looked down to see a haunting and dilapidated building that was both enchanting and magic and in stark contrast to modern Sorrento. It was only on returning from our trip that I was able to unearth some information about this almost eerie location. It is called il Valloni dei Mulini (the valley of the mills) and had long ago been abandoned when the ‘new’ Piazzo was built above it.
I felt rather disappointed on returning to my hotel to discover that my luggage had finally caught up with me. I had thought that I would be worn out and be ready for a rest, but I was still full of beans and set off up the steep hill once again. A small bus serviced the fishing village but I could make heads nor tales of the written instructions at the bus stop, so I decided instead to go to the main bus station in Sorrento and make enquires about catching a bus down the Amalfi Coast. Close by the Tourist Office, I came upon the beautiful medieval cloisters of Chiesa Di San Francesco. The beautiful arches that circle the garden are draped in greenery creating an immediate sense of calm and serenity. I was stunned by the unexpected beauty and the peaceful feeling that came over me.
I dined alone at Da Emilia, very close to my hotel in the fishing village. It turned out to be the archetypal family-run trattoria. It was welcoming and casual and with a small uncomplicated menu with fish so fresh that it is almost flapping. It was a balmy evening and I enjoyed sitting outside, admiring the locals and eating the most delicious grilled fish and sipping local white wine. This most glorious meal cost me all of €12!
8th MAY, 2010
The biggest attraction that Sorrento had for Paul, was, of course, Pompéi. I wasn’t particularly interested myself but was instead drawn to the idea of going down the Amalfi coast. Kerry would have liked to do that too, however, her lifelong fear of steep winding roads and the notoriously recklessness of Italian driving style, had her elect to join Paul instead. Stretching around fifty kilometres along the southern side of the Sorrentino Peninsula, the Amalfi Coast is said to be one of Europe’s most breathtaking. it certainly took my breath away! Only a few kilometres out of Sorrento, I felt my stomach drop as the bus took a hairpin turn at some speed and I found myself looking over the side of the mountain. I was glad that Kerry wasn’t with me as I’m sure she would have asphyxiated in terror! Cliffs terraced with scented lemon groves sheer down into the sparkling sea; whitewashed and pastel coloured villas clung precariously to unforgiving slopes and at one point it seemed that the sea and sky merged into one fast blue horizon.
I decided to get off at Positano, one of the coasts most photogenic and expensive towns. It is one of Italy’s top tourist destinations and a favourite of the well-to-do jet-setting crowds. It’s steeply stacked houses are a medley of peaches, pinks and terracotta’s, and its nearly vertical streets (many of which are, in fact, staircases) are lined with flamboyant shop displays, designer fashions, jewellery shops, ceramic shops, elegant hotels and smart restaurants. The quality of the souvenirs here was vastly superior and also more expensive than I’ve seen elsewhere. One shop was devoted almost entirely to crisp white cotton garments and I settled on a blouse much more expensive than I might otherwise buy, but I loved it.
I was a little underwhelmed when I arrived in Amalfi, but I nonetheless enjoyed my time there. I took a stroll along the undeniably beautiful waterfront but after Positano, the tacky ceramic shops, comparatively downmarket boutiques and restaurants held little appeal. Instead, I headed back up to main Piazza and to the iconic Cattedrale de Sant’Andrea. The Duomo is really spectacular and imposing and dates from the tenth century. A sweeping flight of stairs lead up to a distinctive black and white striped facade yet the baroque interior wasn’t the splendour that the exterior promised. I even found myself saying a short prayer.
By the time I arrived back in Sorrento there wasn’t much time left to get ready for Kerry’s 60th birthday dinner. Kerry and Paul had found the restaurant and it was fabulous. The food was terrific and the service, by our very cheeky waiter, was great. The next morning we were going to go our separate ways. Kerry and Paul were off to Assisi and I was going to Siena. Yet we would catch up again in Florence in another three days. I wondered what other adventures were ahead of me.
9th MAY, 2010 – SIENA
My decision to take the boat, rather than the train to from Sorrento to Naples was a good one. It was much easier, especially as I was rewarded for taking a photo for a young couple as we docked by being invited to share their taxi to the train station. It took another five hours by train to get to Siena. The combined cost of the boat, train and bus to get there wasn’t cheap at €92, but it was worth every bit of it.
Siena is a beautiful walled city in the middle of Tuscany. The lush rolling green hills and valleys between Florence and Siena is Chianti country and the moment I looked at the medieval town from outside the walls, with its huge city gates, I was captivated. Once inside the walls, the sight of so many majestic buildings, the gothic churches and the narrow roads winding around and then all leading ultimately to the centre of town, Il Campo, had me gobsmacked.
Il Campo is where the spectacular horse race, il Palio, is held twice a year. At the lowest point of the square is the Palazzo Communale, or town hall. At the highest end is the 15th century Fonte Gaia (Happy Fountain) which had me enchanted for hours on end day after day. It is such a beautiful piece of artwork with its carvings of breast feeding mothers and of course, depictions of Romulus and Remus. According to legend, Siena was founded by the son of Remus and the symbol of the wolf feeding the twins, Romulus and Remus, is found everywhere.
All cars are banned in Siena so it is a pleasure to wander around. Siena was home to Santa Caterina, one of Italy’s most famous saints and I was to be staying in one of the convents dedicated to her.
ALLA DOMUS – Santuario S. Caterina Via Camporegio, 37 (curfew 1 a.m.)
After finally locating and then checking into my rather spartan convent room, I was anxious to explore this ever so enchanting walled town. It was absolutely thrilling to suddenly hear the sounds of medieval music and then the sight of a troop of men wearing red and yellow medieval costumes, some beating on drums and waving huge red and yellow flags. People congregated in doorways and hung out of windows to watch the procession. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Then I noticed the flags hanging from every narrow house. They were not red and yellow but red and green and dominated by a large white goose with a crown hovering over its head. This was all quite bizarre but became even more exciting as, while following the troupers around the curves of the street, I encountered another group in medieval attire, these ones dressed in blue and white and their flag of the same colour had a fish in the centre of it!
It turns out that I was fortunate enough to arrive on the day of a very special event in Siena. Siena is divided into seventeen ‘contrada’ or districts. Each contrada has its own flag, emblem (fish, owl, goose), the members of each contrada usually belong to one trade (carpenter, baker etc), they have their own saint, church, administration and are fiercely loyal to their group. The highlight of celebrations for the contradas is the biannual Palio, probably the most famous horse race in the world. Il Campo, the town square, becomes a horse track for the race. Representatives from each contrada parade through each others’ districts, just as I witnessed, in historical costume, beating drums and holding their banners aloft until they all arrive together from various districts into the town Center where the horse race will begin. Each contrada has a delegate who will represent them in the race for the glory of the contrada. The bareback riders race around the il Campo three times and it is all over in one minute!
This particular parade that I was following with such enthusiasm was not for the Palio, but for a flag throwing competition. The actual flag throwing has representatives of individual contrada’s throw their flag high up into the air where it spins and rotates before falling back down, hopefully into the hand of the thrower. It is held in the Palazzo Comunale, which has a huge open courtyard. I was fascinated by it all and was especially drawn to a seemingly hapless participant. Each competitor took turns and apparently there were three rounds that were judged in turn and then the best of the three throws was the one used to determine the winner. After each throw, the supporters, clearly identified by the scarves they wore bearing their colours and emblem, would cheer wildly or give out an audible sigh if it hadn’t been a good throw. My own favourite was much younger than the other competitors and considerably overweight. I had to wonder to myself why his contrada couldn’t find a better candidate. Excruciatingly, one round after the other, he was the only participant who didn’t once catch his flag. He slipped away dejectedly at the conclusion of the contest and I felt SO sorry for him!
10th MAY, 2010 – SIENA
Despite the church bells waking me up at seven (tolling bells are a much more pleasant way to start the day than an alarm clock), I woke up feeling quite refreshed and enthusiastic about starting another day in Sienna. The bed, once again, was as hard as a rock and the breakfast was the most impoverished of fares – cereal, yogurt, long-life milk, packaged cakes and juice that tasted like cordial and even the coffee ruined by the awful milk, but the second, black cup was much better.
My luggage finally got the better of me and I decided to mail as much as I could home. It is much warmer than I’d anticipated, so there was no need for the sweater or the warm dress. The shoes I bought in Rome have proven to be too uncomfortable, especially as I’m on my feet , and usually walking for at least twelve hours a day. I might even be losing some weight, but it’s hard to see because convents only provide the tiniest of mirrors in the tiny bathroom – maybe I need to get rid of my full length one at home! So my first job was to find the Post Office but the hardest part was navigating the procedure with the workers there who were no more competent in English than I am in Italian.
After waiting in line for twenty minutes for my number to be called, I found that I had been waiting in the wrong line. After another twenty minutes, I found that I had to go to a separate part of the Post Office to buy a box (which I couldn’t put together unassisted). There was another long wait and I found out that I first had to fill out the Customs Forms. That really took some creativity to translate and decipher. Then I was told that I couldn’t just write ‘used clothes, €140, 3k’, but that I had to list each item separately, then write the individual weight and cost value. Naturally enough, it was a huge ‘guesstimate’, but at last it was done. It cost me €35 (about $50) and took two hours of my time, but at least I made a little bit of room in my suitcase. I’ve also started dumping old underwear and socks in the waste bin in my room. Washing any kind of clothes in the room is forbidden, in any case.
I spent the rest of the day exploring, getting lost and making new discoveries because of that. I stumbled across the university, its buildings were as spectacular as almost every other on in Sienna. In the large central courtyard was a beautiful statue that was a memorial to fallen soldiers, but at closer inspection, it turned out to be in honour of students who had fought in the war of Independence in 1894. I went to the chapel and said a prayer.
Despite being so pleased to have offloaded some clothes, I was tempted into buying a lovely little dress. It is very tiny, but I’m aware that I’ve lost all self-control and resign myself to dumping even more clothes before this trip progresses much further. I stopped for a glorious slice of capricciosa pizza for the princely sum of €3.
I went to the bus station to check on time-tables for San Gimignano tomorrow but as the day wore on, I realised that there was so much more to see in Siena and I’m starting to get very tired. San Gimignano is much smaller than Siena with only 7,400 people as opposed to 54,000 and it is just as easy to get to from Florence where I have four nights instead of three. I know that I’m kidding myself and that I will resent using up a day of Florence when the time comes, yet San Gimignano sounds so enchanting. I’ve decided to book my spare days in Lucca if at all possible, rather than having more days in Rome before I leave. I really adore Tuscany!
On my way to check out what appeared to be a very promising restaurant with a degustation menu on the other side of Piazza del Campo, I stumbled across a lovely trattoria quite close to the convent. The chef’s recommendation for the day was Wild Boar with porcini mushrooms and polenta. When I discovered that my first dining choice was a restaurant than judging from the state of the building, had long ago closed, I hotfooted it back for the boar which was sublime. It was slow cooked and was oh so tender! The taste was between pork and beef and the sauce was wonderfully flavoursome – apart from the delicious fresh porcini, I also detected soft peppercorns – yum!
Trattoria La Tellina. Via Delle Terme, 52. Boar, wine, water and 15% service = €23
Despite my best intentions I didn’t turn off my light until after midnight but a call from Barry made the late night worth it.
11th MAY, 2010 – SIENA
The acoustics here are unbelievable. I’m sure people in the hallways (not to mention the adjoining rooms) have no idea that every word they utter is amplified so that it sounds as if they are in the same room as me. What was particularly irritating last night was that the occupants of the room next door kept scraping their chair every five or ten minutes along the stone floor. They must have a much larger room than me! At one stage I was contemplating banging the wall with my shoe but I’m glad now that I controlled myself.
The nuns here, as in Rome, are old and decrepit, but incredibly sweet and very obliging. It is not unusual to see young black or Asian nuns walking around the cathedral. One young, Italian priest striding purposely across the courtyard caught my eye. His regulation black winter coat was the most fashionable item of clothing that I’d seen on any member of the clergy. Moreover, he was incredibly handsome. He must make the female members of his congregation swoon with impious lust.
My last meal in Siena was at La Pizzeria Di Nona Mede, Comporegio, 21. It was very close to the convent and I had a delicious gnocchi with three different cheeses and truffles with half a carafe of Sicilian white wine for €22.
Every day that I have spent in Italy seems better than the one before. I can’t imagine that anything or any place, could be more wonderful than Siena!
12th MAY, 2010 – FLORENCE
Suore Ablate, Borgo Pinti, 15
I am staying in another lovely convent, this one attached to the Duomo and hidden behind a huge front door in the narrow little street of Borgo Pinti. The door was opened by a sweet faced young nun from South America. She ushered me through rooms that were filled with beautiful museum quality furniture and had paintings hanging on the walls that wouldn’t have been out of place in an Art Gallery. My room in this huge mansion was upstairs and down a long corridor. My ‘cell’ was a tiny, but comfortable with just enough room for a single bed, small desk and sink. Across the hall was a newly converted, modern bathroom that I had all to myself. The cost was only €180 for four nights, of €45 per night including breakfast. A great deal! They also had ‘matrimonial’ rooms. The curfew at 11:30 was also very reasonable.
It was good to catch up with Kerry again. We sat upstairs in the hop-on-hop-off bus and despite the rain, we enjoyed it very much. It went outside Florence proper, and the views across the valley from up on the mountainside at Santé Croce were lovely. Looking down upon the city gave a different perspective and we absolutely fell in love with Florence.
I had dinner at a nearby restaurant, La Giostra – Borgo Pinti, 12 and although very good, it was probably the most expensive meal I’d had in Italy.
13th MAY, 2010 – FLORENCE
I was over the moon as I walked the streets of Florence, gasping in wonder at the glorious architecture, the beautiful fountains, churches, statues and of course the wonderful clothes displayed in all the shop windows. The Uffizi Gallery was spectacular and I was fortunate enough to witness a fashion shoot in the gallery, but after four hours, I finally succumbed to sensory overload and spent the afternoon shopping with Kerry. The lovely hotel where Paul and Kerry stayed was quite close to the leather markets so we spent quite a bit of time exploring that. Her upmarket hotel also offered free drinks and nibbles at ‘happy hour’ for the guests and so I joined them there for a while before heading back up to the Duomo and getting ready to go out to dinner. I had asked one of the nuns if there was an inexpensive restaurant close by and she directed me to Trattoria Acadi, just across the street. What a gastronomic delight that was! I had rabbit with potatoes, spinach and beans baked in a ‘fragrant’ tomato sauce. I discovered that fragrant meant spicy, but it wasn’t overpowering. Including the service charge, water and half litre of wine the bill came to €22 and worth every cent.
14th MAY, 2010 – FLORENCE
The nuns that I have encountered have been so lovely and I simply can’t imagine any of them doing harm to a child.
Paul decided that he didn’t want to go out to dinner after Happy Hour, so Kerry and I went for a rare meal alone together. We went to Il Cantastoni near Piazza della Signora, quite close to their hotel. I had Bistecca (the famous Florentine steak) and a mixed salad for €25.
15th MAY, 2010 – FLORENCE
It was a wonderful day. In between indulging my passion for Italian fashion and buying yet more clothes and then allowing the stylists in the boutiques accessorise them all with scarves, bangles, necklaces etc., I had another good look at the Duomo and admired the golden bronze doors around the baptistery with the panels depicting the story of humanity and redemption. I also crossed over Ponte Vecchio to explore Palazzo Pitti and surrounds as well as an extended visit to Palazzo Vecchio. I had trouble dragging myself away and so I didn’t arrive at Kerry and Paul’s hotel until after 6:30. Paul was a bit truculent because he had spent the day in department stores with Kerry and had missed out on seeing the museum that housed Michelangelo’s David.
I had raved to them about the trattoria across from my convent and so they joined me there for dinner. I also took them in for a tour of my convent. While the rooms are scrupulously clean, they are very basic and would probably only be worth of two stars. The public rooms, however, are lovely.
On those relatively few occasions when we’ve eaten together, I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed Paul’s company. I had never realised what a good sense of humour he has and on many occasions he had induced prolonged periods of belly laughter from me. This time I chose the ‘beef cooked with Chianti and herbs in earthenware pot’. I had suspected that it would be an Italian version of Boeuf Bourguignon, but it was very much more than that.
This was to be our last night in Florence and we had a big travel day to get to Cinque Terre in the morning, so we made an early night of it.
Sunday 16th MAY, 2010 – CINQUE TERRE –
I had booked a room in the same hotel as Kerry and Paul, for once, and I was looking forward to enjoying more salubrious accommodation than I had so far experienced in Italy. It was a three hour train ride from Florence and it took another twenty minutes of hard uphill slog to get to the Firenze e Continentale hotel. Kerry and Paul checked in first but when it was my turn, the receptionist said there was no reservation in my name. I rooted through my luggage looking for the booking confirmation to no avail. Then I was told that there was actually a room available but not at the price that I had found on the internet. I felt that I had been scammed and simply left the hotel and trudged back to the train station where I had noticed a tourist office. The assistant there told me that there might be a room at the Hotel Palme in Monterossa and was kind enough to dial the hotel for me. I was almost in tears as I explained what had happened to me at Firenze e Continentale. The receptionist was horrified and seemed rather pleased that this more upmarket hotel had let me down. So I took the Cinque Terre train to its westernmost and largest village.
It was a tiny room with a crap TV, and a noisy fan, but I grew to love it. The staff were infinitely patient with me, particularly when I first arrived, tired and harassed. The lovely receptionist had given me a very warm reception and best of all, after weeks of painful and mentally exhausting need to communicate in my hopeless Italian, she spoke fluent English. The hotel itself, despite its official four star rating, was initially disappointing. The foyer certainly wasn’t anywhere near as nice as the
Firenze e Continental. Yet the incredible beauty of Monterossa and the fact that rather than staying in the comparatively ugly, large city of La Spezia (population 94,000), I was actually going to be staying in one of the towns (population 1,580), that was my reason for being in the region.
Apart from the simple reception area and bar area, when the receptionist handed me a remote for the TV that looked dirty and at least twenty years old, my heart sank a little. The room itself was no larger than my nun’s cell in Florence and the TV was indeed old and minuscule in size. Similarly the telephone could easily have come from the early eighties. The bathroom was about half the size of the one in Florence, but it was scrupulously clean.
The heat in the room nearly knocked me out and the air conditioning didn’t appear to be operational. When I pulled up the outside blinds, the view was completely uninspiring. This is where the hotel came into its own. Without the slightest hint of irritation they were at my door in less than a minute on each of the four occasions that I called for assistance. The male staff member explained to me that the radiator heats up and it would take several hours after switching it off at the input valve before all the heat would be gone from it. He suggested that I keep the window open until it cooled down but warned me to turn it back on before 20:00 when it will all shut down and not reheat until morning. I told him that I would much prefer to be cold than hot, that in any case, there were plenty of blankets.
I had a shower, changed clothes and headed off to explore the village. My first priorities were to locate an internet point and the Post Office. After lugging my bags through the busy streets of Florence, up and down numerous flights of stairs, struggling from the train station to Firenze e Continentale, then back again and the to Monterossa, I knew that it was time to send back yet another package of clothes.
I strolled along the beach to the picturesque little village full of variously coloured houses with Juliet balconies and green shuttered windows. I was captivated by the narrow cobblestone lanes, the presence of ‘real’ Italians, fishermen, black clad nonnas, shrieking children and hardly any tourists. Few tourists actually stay in the villages and are mainly day trippers. At around four every afternoon, I suddenly felt that I had the village to myself. Delicatessen/wine bars gave out samples of wine, cheese, salami and bread and I immediately felt part of the community. I loved the little boutiques to be found around every corner and despite my resolve, found so many lovely shirts, scarves and bags, that I was soon carry bags of clothes, stationary, pasta herbs and pesto.
I had a wonderful meal of grilled swordfish prepared with tomatoes and capers at Ristorante Via Vente and went back to my hotel tired but happy. I loved this lovely little town.
17th May 2010 – MONTEROSSA – MANAROLA -RIOMAGGIORE
The five villages of Chinque Terre can be accessed on foot, by boat or by train but there is no car road that connects them. I decided to go by boat to Manarola and arranged to collect Kerry and Paul at the boat stop in Vernazza. Unfortunately the sea was too rough for a proper landing, although some locals managed to get off. All I could do was to wave to Kerry and Paul waiting on the dock.
Manarola has more vineyards than any of the other four villages of Cinque Terre. I was fascinated to see that the terraced grapes came all the way down to the sea. Some grapes need to be harvested from boats. It was a very steep one hour climb to the top of the mountain and with only that narrow road that is made up of steps the whole way, I shudder to think how the inhabitants get their supplies up the hill, not to mention furniture and appliances.
From Manarola I was able to take the shortest of Cinque Terre’s cliff side walks. It was only 1k to get to Riomaggiore, but the Lovers’ Lane walk afforded me some truly alluring views out to sea and the adjoining coastlines.
Riomaggiore is the largest of the villages but seemed to be the least touristy. Fishing boats bobbed in the small harbour and the colourful houses seemed to be stacked on top of each other. I was particularly interested to see the murals outside the train station. They depicted the backbreaking work of Cinque Terre’s farmers who, over the centuries, built Cinque Terre with their bare hands.
Completely exhausted after a very long day, I took the little train back to Monterosso. After another delicious dinner of swordfish, I was ready to go back to my hotel room to relax before bed.
Wednesday 18th MAY, 2010 – MONTEROSSA
I thought that I would try to walk some of the 12k blue trail that runs the length of the coast from Monterosso to Riomaggiore. I gave up after half an hour because it was quite boring and not at all scenic.
I went instead to Corniglia, the quietest of all the villages. There is no boat access, so I took the train and from the platform had to climb up around 400 steps to get to the village. Reaching the top had its own rewards with the most spectacular of sea views that I’d experienced to date.
The walking path to Vernazza was just gorgeous with wild flowers growing out of rocks and quite distinct from the multi-coloured houses of the villages, always tucked up against each other, there were quaint little houses, here and there.
After weeks of enjoying the glorious gastronomic delights of Italy and four nights in beautiful Cinque Terre, my last night in Monterossa was marred by a visit to Ristorante il Castello. Guided in part by the valuable input of fellow travellers on Trip Advisor and the suggestions listed in the Lonely Planet Guide, my dining experiences have almost always been wonderful and I’ve been treated very respectfully. I’ve been ranking these restaurants on a scale of 1-10 and the lowest, which was still very good, I gave a 7.5.
Tonight I rated Ristorante il Casello a low 4. Guided by the food alone, it probably would have been worth of a 6, but the rude and blatantly discriminatory service that I was given as a single woman was astounding and crushing. I was made to feel like a third class citizen.
At 8 o’clock it was two thirds full. More importantly one third empty. I was waved towards the front centre table, which was up to that moment used to store menus. The three neighbouring tables (protected from the chill night air by clear plastic screens and warmed by braziers, were empty and each had a vase of flowers. I watched other diners arrive while I was there and old table cloths were whisked away to be replaced by crisp new ones. After waiting fifteen minutes to be served, I started to feel seriously cold and as all of my neighbouring tables were yet to be filled, I moved myself to one of them that was shielded by the plastic screen. I was told to move back because that table was ‘reserved’. This proved to be a blatant lie. I watched and listened as the serving staff – one male and one female – fawned over their respective customers with syrupy charm and friendliness, while I was treated as if I had leprosy.
When my order was finally, literally, plonked down on my table, it wasn’t the promising sounding ‘sea bass baked in earthenware dish with tomatoes, potatoes and olives’, but as the waiter dismissively announced ‘grilled swordfish’. He was decidedly petulant when I immediately corrected him in my order and he took it away with a theatrical sigh.
While I shivered and ran my hands up and down my arms to try to warm myself up, he wooed his other customers with silky service, fetched another screen to protect them from the sea breeze as the night air chilled even further. He eventually plonked my correct down even more contemptuously and an even louder thud than he had the swordfish.
Really very, very cold by now and only half way through my meal, I requested my bill. He quickly audibly tallied up ‘service €2, one glass of wine €2, sea bass€14, . . €19’ and then spun around to tend to his prospectively more lucrative customers.
My sense of frustration increased as in the next ten minutes he studiously avoided eye contact with me. Finally, from two tables away, I had to vigorously wave both arms at him and reminded him that I’d asked for the bill.
He almost, but not quite, shouted at me in a very agitated tone ‘I told you, €19!!!’
‘I want to SEE the bill!’, I replied.
Five minutes later he slapped it down on the table. It was a terrible experience!
19th May, 2010 VENICE, ITALY
After travelling by train for more than six hours, it was a thrill to get my first view of watery Venice as we approached the station. Kerry and Paul travelled in first class and I was able to walk through the carriages to say ‘hi’. What a lovely surprise to find that some lovely South Korean women that I had befriended while waiting at La Spezia train station were sitting next to them!
It was a thrill to board the Vapporater and tour down the Grand Canal getting a bird’s eye view from the front of all the magnificent palaces, churches and ancient buildings that I’d seen so many times in documentaries.
They say that you’ve never been to Venice if you never get lost – so naturally I got very lost. I didn’t mind though, even with my luggage, it was a real treat. It was late when I arrived at the convent of Instituto San Giuseppe and the fat old nun that let me in was very stern and read me the Riot Act about the rules, especially the 10:30 curfew. I left my passport with her and was delighted to discover that my room was better than the four star hotel in Monterosso. The furnishings weren’t as modern, but it was a twin room and comparatively large. The bathroom was great and had two sets of fluffy, white towels. Best of all, the beds were really comfortable, the sheets ironed and the pillows soft. I also had lovely views from the windows.
By the time I had a shower and changed clothes it was already nine o’clock which meant that I only had one and a half hours before ‘lockdown’. I spent more time than I’d intended looking around the neighbourhood so I ended up just getting a huge, delicious slice of pizza for €2 for dinner. By then I’d become disoriented and ended up being five minutes late back. A sweet, pretty Phillipina nun opened up for me and handed me back my passport. As luck would have it, the old crow wasn’t very far behind her and admonished me. ‘En retardo!’ I got the same treatment from a nun I passed in the hall. I had very clearly breached protocol.
20th May, 2010 – VENICE
What started out being a magical day, turned out to be a major catastrophe. My first priority was to find an Internet cafe to pay off some of my credit card balance for fear that the cards would be suspended otherwise. I took the water boat and then it was one of those series of wrong turns that I’m famous for and when I eventually found it, I realised that I’d been very close on several occasions.
The moment I stood in the doorway I realised that I wouldn’t be allowed to use it because, for once, I wasn’t wearing my money belt and I’d left my passport in my room. Except for Naples, I felt very secure the entire time I’d been in Italy, and particularly so when I was staying in convents. I felt extra safe also because a big statue of a Jesus guarded my door and I’d even put my passport under the bible! I realise now what a stupid and obvious move that was!
Suffice it to say that the passport was gone! The money belt with the cash and credit cards was still in my suitcase (thank heavens) but everyone knows that your most precious possession when away from your home country is your passport.
I wasn’t unduly distressed immediately, I’m forever misplacing things when travelling. The less sleep I get and the more stress that I endure, the more my brain turns to mush. Other than the brief irritation at the hotel in La Spezia, I’d had no problems at all and woke every morning after only five or six hours of sleep ready to get going again. I was actually going to send an email to the Walking Women listing the relatively few things that I’d lost (glasses, camera case, the odd bottle of water).
This was far more serious, of course, and the first few times that I unpacked and then repacked all my suitcase, checked every pocket, looked through every item in the room, etc., I still felt confident that it would turn up. The fourth time that I did it, even looking in ridiculous places like the shower and under the mattress I started to get scared. I’d left my windows open and wondered if someone had climbed across the balconies and got in that way. I questioned whether I had locked the door. Surely the nuns were beyond reproach!
I went to the reception area to report it and Mother Superior called the cleaning woman to her office. (I’d seen no evidence that the room had been cleaned and I’d made my own bed) but she said that she’d cleaned it but hadn’t touched any of my things.
The contact details that were printed in the Lonely Planet for the Australian Consulate were wrong, but the Philippina nun, who thankfully spoke English, was able to translate the recorded message and give me the new number. The embassy staff assured me that I could be issued with a temporary passport at their office in Milan (4 hours travel) but because it was Friday in Australia already, it could only be done if I could get there by 9:00 AM the next morning. I’d have to go to the Police Station to get a report and I’d have to get passport photos taken. I still had a glimmer of hope that the passport would turn up, but I went through the process anyway.
I’m starting to think that a requirement for joining the Italian Police Force is that the candidate be drop-dead gorgeous, because they all are. In fact, good looks are everywhere in Northern Italy. The female officer who took my details was also lovely – I would have liked to take her photograph.
Just as I left the police station and entered the always crowded area around St Marks Square where I was meeting Kerry and Paul, six black men carrying multitudes of cheap, counterfeit bags, started moving very quickly. I presumed that they were rushing to the dock – perhaps a boat load of tourist from the large P & O liner were coming ashore. Then with incredible speed, I witnessed a bag snatching. In an instant they all ran towards the same direction, suddenly dropped all their bags and then scattered in every different direction into the crowd. What was left behind in the middle of the bags was a furious man standing there swearing in Italian. I thought it was very strange that he pulled out a walkie-talkie, kicked the bags and then walked off still talking in a highly agitated manner, but not going to the police station which was immediately behind him. What was stolen?
Before going out to dinner together, Kerry and Paul came to my convent room and went through it and my bags looking for my passport to no avail. I had asked Kerry to bring her own passport so that I could get internet access, give Barry my passwords and get him to do my banking for me. Unfortunately, the Internet cafe was closed, so I decided that after dinner I would send him a text message.
Over dinner at La Mascareta (5183 Calle Lunga, Santa Maria Formosa) we discussed the bag snatching and Kerry suggested that he must have been a courier. They had obviously planned the operation and the dropping of all those bags seemed completely incidental, so they must have known it was going to be a very good take. It was probably drugs. The speed with which it happened was quite stunning!
We shared a wonderful bottle of Valpolicella but I was quite disappointed with my ‘lamb roast’ which turned out to be lamb chops in a very salty sauce. I’d particularly booked that restaurant based on recommendations in both Trip Adviser and the Lonely Planet. On re-reading the Lonely Planet, I noted that it was primarily a Wine Bar that served great anti-pasta platters, and they certainly did look good! Kerry loved it that patrons arrived for dinner with their dogs in tow.
I was happy to get back to the convent with 10 minutes to spare but when I got back to my room, I made the dreadful discovery that I’d left my phone in the restaurant! I raced back downstairs right on 10:30 but the nuns pointedly ignored me when I rang the bell to be let out. What else could go wrong? ‘Thanks for nothing, Jesus’ I said as I passed him by my door.
I was due to go to Verona and stay two nights at Hotel Europa in two days time. It occurred to me that I’d have trouble checking into that hotel without documentation so I decided to ask the nuns if they would call the hotel and confirm that they had seen my passport. I found the hotel telephone number and went down to the office and asked the man that was sitting in the office to make the call for me in case the people at the Verona hotel couldn’t speak English. It turned out that the male at the hotel Europa did speak English and he went through the same routine that I’d experienced at the hotel in La Spezia.
‘How do you spell your name’? ‘When did you make your booking’? ‘Did you book on the internet’? ‘We have no reservation for you. We have a room, but not at that rate’. Kerry had the exact same thing happen to her in Assisi and it is obviously a scam that works very well. I decided that my best course of action would be to ask the nuns if I could spend an extra two nights with them.
The entire, unpleasant exchange shook me up and a couple from Goa (Christian Indians) who were standing waiting for attention, saw the expression on my face and with concern asked if I was ok. The woman’s bag was open and I cautioned her about crime in the area and told her what had just happened and about my passport. They were so sympathetic that it actually made me cry again.
Friday 20th MAY – VENICE
I woke up feeling much better. I had my health, cash and credit cards and I knew that I’d get a new passport on Monday. The first thing that I did was to ask to see Mother Superior. She couldn’t speak a word of English, but it was her who called for the cleaner who denied any knowledge of ever seeing my passport.
I showed her the police report where I had just said that it was missing or lost, specifically NOT stolen and that I didn’t suspect anyone. She seemed pleased with that and said that she had prayed for me this morning and that I should pray too. I assured her that I had and then asked if I could stay another two nights. She said that she thought that I could have ONE and my heart sank, but she said to go downstairs and ask at the desk and gave me a big hug.
Just as I arrived at the desk the phone rang and the nun took out an eraser and rubbed something out. When I asked about the extra two nights, I was told there had just been a cancellation and so, yes! Mother Superior’s prayers worked!
I went first to the restaurant which was closed, but a delivery sat on the step, so I wrote a note in Italian saying that I had left my phone in the restaurant the night before and that I’d be back. I’d noticed an Internet cafe just around the corner from the convent. Had I known about it before all my passport problems might not have developed. I tried showing my Police Report but the attendant was adamant that the law required photo ID and I started to cry with frustration again. An elderly American couple was standing in line and wanted to hear my story. I can only guess that the attendant had not fully understood me before because he now handed me a password and told me that I didn’t have to pay the €10. That was my second stroke of good luck in an hour!
I decided to do the Lonely Planet walking tour from the train station to St Marks Square. Doing it backwards made it more challenging but stumbling into ‘hidden’ working class Venice was a real treat. I particularly enjoyed getting directions from an elderly man who for all the world was an Italian version of my Uncle Karl with all his cheekiness, dress style and zest for life. When I told him that Venice was beautiful and number one in Italy and the whole world, he rewarded me with a kiss on the cheek and my second hug of the day. I’ve never appreciated before just how healing the power of a hug can be. I also came across the hospital and was fascinated by the water ambulances. Of course everything going to or from Venice, with no cars or motor bikes at all, does so by water. Food, furniture, garbage, and coffins -it makes no difference. There is only one way in and only one way out. On my way back, I passed through St Mark’s square and was delighted to see so many beautiful brides posing for their wedding photos. Then it was on to the Police Station to yet again repeat my now well practiced question “Avete trovato il moi passaporto?”.
22nd MAY, 2010 – VERONA
Since I was supposed to be going to Verona today, I decided that I could at least take a day trip. This proved to be lucky for several reasons. First of all, pretty as Verona is, one day is really all the time it takes to explore and was glad to have the extra time in Venice. Secondly, I happened to arrive on the day they were hosting a regional wide food festival. Each region had their own stall selling and giving out samples of their produce. I tasted cheeses, olives, hams, salmon, wild boar with crackling, pesto, and best of all, truffles in a variety of guises.
Train services are limited on Saturday’s, so I had quite a wait at Verona station but Saturday is also football day and the local team apparently won. The fans were exuberant and as the trains full of them arrived, the sound was almost deafening as they sang a seemingly endless series of support songs. I recognised ‘when the saints come marching in’ and it was great fun!
I walked for forty minutes back to the convent from the station and along the way picked up supplies from various deli’s for a quiet dinner in my room: prosciutto, a deliciously runny Gorgonzola dolce latte, fresh sardines, prepared Vitelli Tonata, a slab of ricotta cheesecake for dessert and a half bottle of Valpoliceli wine. As delicious as it was, I couldn’t finish even half of it and so my ‘snack bag’ keeps growing. I’d also stopped by the Police Station to enquire yet again if my passport had been found.
24th MAY, 2010 – MILAN
Have passport, will travel!
I took the train to Milan. They have the most beautiful train station in the world. Moscow has the official status, but I’ve never seen it. I made a stop at Baggage Storage to offload my suitcase and then took a taxi to the Australian Embassy. Security is tight and I enjoyed being frisked by the cute guard. The Rome consulate had advised me that after I turned up, Milan would have to get the OK from Canberra, so I was sent away for five hours.
It was such a pleasure to have the opportunity to explore the spectacular Gothic Duomo. Milan is Italy’s fashion capital and I’ve never seen such high fashion in one dedicated area before. Down a back street I saw a Congo line of people waiting patiently to enter a store front before emerging with gelatos. I waited ten minutes for my turn along with students and business people, but not a single tourist (they were buying theirs from the shops around the main square). I had been rationing myself to one gelato a week and wasn’t due for another one for six days, yet I had three scoops. I saved calories by having it in a cup, not cone. It was the best gelato I’ve ever tasted and I decided that pistachio, hazelnut and bacchi is my favourite combination.
My passport was ready just in time for peak hour but on Eurostar they only have assigned seats, so at least I didn’t have to compete for space for me or my bag.
25th MAY, 2010 – BOLOGNA
Bologna is both the gastronomic and gay capital of Italy, yet surprisingly and wonderfully, it is almost devoid of tourists. Not a single pack of American, British, German, French or Japanese tourists blocking the narrow streets following the leader. In Rome, Venice and Florence every time I turned the corner I stumbled into a group of them recognisable by the coloured flag or umbrella held aloft and the guide speaking into a microphone. On the few occasions when the tour was conducted in English I tagged along briefly to get a free lecture.
Here in Bologna I’ve only heard an occasional non-Italian language spoken. Thankfully they weren’t American! Why do so many (not all) Americans find it necessary to speak so loudly in public? Some cultures that have different norms regarding personal body space and make Anglo-Saxons and Northern Europeans uncomfortable by standing too close. Similarly, Americans seem to be culturally unaware that most of the planet lowers their voice in public so that only people within a few meters can hear their conversation. Anyway, it felt as if I had Bologna all to myself and felt blessed.
It is my habit to walk to my accommodation from the train station if it is under 3k from the station. Greater distances will have me taking the metro or a bus. I’d rather spend the taxi money on good food and clothes. The most important reason for doing this is that it always gives me the immediate sense of the place I’m in. By the time I arrive at my hotel (it usually takes about an hour including ‘lost’ time), I am so hot and tired from dragging over 20k of luggage around, that I promise myself not to buy another single thing. I seem to be continuously breaking that promise!
I’d eaten on the train and it was nine o’clock, so after a shower and a change of clothes, I decided to wander around Piazza Maggiore (main town square) and get a glass of wine in one of the bars facing into it.
What a treat! Rather than a major city, it had the feel of a village square and even better than the little villages in Cinque Terre because it was only populated by locals. University students, openly (and unreservedly accepted) gay couples, families with kids and old people were all enjoying the cool air (it had been 30 degrees during the day) and the entertainment. First there was an incredible fire-dancer and then a young woman with the voice of an angel sang contemporary songs in both Italian and English.
I sat there at my little table drinking a San Gimignano red, snacking on the nibbles provided, listening to the singing having a warm conversation with a table of three generations of Italian men and the smile didn’t leave my face for an hour.
26th MAY, 2010 – LUCCA
My lovely hostess, Anna, met me at the train station and took me to her beautiful mansion that she runs as a BnB. Al Tordone was probably the most comfortable accommodation that I’d experienced in Italy to date. It was perhaps no more than a three and a half star but was situated in a large family estate with beautiful gardens and about two kilometres from the city walls. As BnB’s so often tout, I really did feel as if I was a guest in a beautiful home. My upstairs room was large and luxurious with views over the garden.
Anna’s house was outside the city walls but she gave me the use of a bike and said that it would only be a ten minute ride. When I caught my first view of the old town of Lucca, it was love at first sight. Hidden behind imposing 12m high Renaissance walls, complete with moat, was the loveliest of towns that I have ever seen. Devoid of motor vehicles, the narrow cobblestoned streets were full of extraordinary buildings, churches, enticing restaurants and delightful shops.
Lucca’s busiest street, Via Fillungo, threads it’s way through the medieval heart of the city. It was to become a firm favourite of mine and I would spend many hours browsing the shops and eating in the restaurants in the immediate vicinity. I suddenly stumbled across Piazza dell’Anfiteatro and I was agog. A huge oval was filled with colourful multi-storied houses. These houses, I was later to discover, had been built on the foundations of the one-time Roman amphitheatre and retained the shape of the original. Underneath were shop fronts for restaurants, souvenir shops, boutiques and art galleries. The upper floors were housing. It was just gorgeous!
If all this wasn’t enough, I then discovered that on top of the city walls was a wonderful wide expanse of footpath shaded by huge lush trees. Passeggiata della Mura is a 4m long circular footpath used by strollers, joggers, cyclists and rollerbladers. It was quite high above the city and so afforded a wonderful view of Luccese life. I slowly took it all in, seeing the botanical gardens, numerous churches, tall tower buildings, looking directly into the houses of residents, admiring the opulence of mansion gardens and so very much more. I knew that I would be returning to this fantastic wall top track again and again.
I had dinner at Cantine Bernardini, a small restaurant off a side street off the Piazza Bernardini and had the most wonderful dish of tagliatelle with wild boar for €11! Then I had the challenge of trying to find my way home. Once back outside the city walls, I was completely baffled as to which way I should go. I made many false starts and kept going around in circles and nothing at all seemed familiar. I stopped a few people and tried to ask but they didn’t understand a word of either my Italian or my English. It started getting quite dark and of course the bike had no headlights. I was about to break down crying in frustration and then by some miracle I found myself in front of the gates of Al Tondoni and I was home!
27th MAY, 2010 -LUCCA
Anna served a delicious breakfast, by far the best one I’ve had in Italy. Her lovely daughter was there to help and was keen to chat but I simply couldn’t wait to head back to the old town, but before I did that I asked if I could stay an extra night. Unfortunately, the bnb was all booked out but she had an apartment inside the city walls that she could let me have. Yes please!
The first thing that I did was to take a ride on top of the city walls. My delight at this wonderful open space was only marred by my inability to gain full control of the bike. I kept ringing my bell and screaming out ‘scusi’ but people kept walking in front of me and I’d have to quickly disembark rather that hit somebody. It was even worse when I tried to ride it through the main shopping street of vía Fillungo. I kept crashing into walls until I finally gave up and walked the bike to the shop that I had seen the day before. It was a shop selling luggage and decided that this close towards the end of my trip, I was better off buying another bag rather than mailing more stuff home. I’d only come with carry-on, so there was no danger in being over weight. So I bought another suitcase from two lovely middle aged ladies, strapped it onto the back of the bike and somehow managed to get back to Anna’s. Now that I had another suitcase, I couldn’t wait to go shopping again so that I could fill it.
I had a great afternoon, I bought a leather jacket and found an incredible little shop where a man was making books out of leather and handmade paper. I bought one for Barry and then another for myself. I also found a shop selling armour and chain mail, so I bought a hood for Joshua. I soon found myself admiring Chiesa Di San Michele, an extraordinary Romanesque church with an exquisite wedding-cake facade, topped by blue and gold figure of the Archangel Michael slaying a dragon.
This church was in the middle of Piazza Cittadella, a lovely square surrounded by fashionable shops, cafes delicatessens and an absolutely devine pasticceria. There was a trumpeter playing music in a far corner and as I got closer I realised that he was playing under a statue of Puccini, cast in bronze with a cigarette dangling from his slender fingers. As the city’s most favourite son, Puccini was born in Lucca and wrote most of his famous works, including Madam Butterfly right here.
I decided to have dinner at Trattoria da Leo, a restaurant recommended by both TripAdvisor and Lonely Planet. It seemed that others had read those reviews also, because the place was packed. I decided to wait around the corner propped up on a low window sill. A few minutes later, an attractive woman in a jaunty peaked cap, approached me. She held out her hand and said ‘Lesley, Piacere’.
Lesley was an American of with an Irish mother and an Italian father. In just a few days we became firm friends. She was an actress of TV series and had been in films with Keifer Sutherland and Steve Martin and in various episodes of NYPD and ER. She amused me with her repertoire of accents and anecdotes.
28th MAY, 2010 – LUCCA
After my walk along the city walls, I was tempted down to explore the Orto Botánica, to admire the plants there and to sit quietly for a while to listen to the birdsong. It was so peaceful! In the afternoon, I met up with Lesley and we went shoe shopping and to Sophora and before going out to dinner together at Osteria Baralla where I tasted the most wonderful dish of forrest mushrooms cloaked in a three cheese sauce. The wild Boar was also the best that I’d ever tasted. After dinner we went to a Puccini concert together.
29th MAY, 2010 – LUCCA
Anna drove me to her sweet little apartment very near to Piazza Santa Maria. It was only tiny but very comfortable. I especially liked the little kitchen with a small table set up in front of the window which afforded a wonderful view of the day trippers, and locals walking through to the nearby via Fillungo.
I took my now habitual 4K walk on top of the wall, enjoying my birds eye view of Lucca. I decided to go explore more closely the magnificent Palazzo Pfanner that I had been admiring every day on my walk. Having the most ornate and substantial garden within the city walls and guarded by statues representing Greek and Roman deities, I was delighted to be able to inspect it at closer quarters.
I was desperate to cram in as much as I could of this beautiful city before my trip back to Rome the next day. So I walked down streets that I’d never visited before, climbed up to the top of Torre Delle Ore for a birds eye view of the walled city and beyond to the Tuscan country side. I was determined that I’d return to Italy and spend my entire holiday in Lucca. With its close proximity to Florence and San Gimignano, I thought it would be a perfect base.
30th MAY, 2010 – ROME
I treated myself to a glorious five star hotel for my last night in Italy but couldn’t drag myself away from Lucca (the town, not the British Airline representative that I was to meet the next day) until hours after I’d originally planned, so it was after 9 p.m. before I arrived in Rome. I once again had the sensation, as I had on return to Florence, that I’d started to ‘know’ Rome.
That first trip was a shocker with getting on and off three different metros before getting it right. Then there was the walk to the convent being much longer than expected and in the rain, with no luggage or soap to wash thirty hours of travel away. So I carefully selected a five star hotel that was only a five minute walk to the station.
I arrived feeling hot and sweaty, not only from being in the train for six hours but then also pulling TWO bags up the cobblestoned street. Yet I was hungrier than I was concerned with my appearance. I asked the concierge to recommend a very good restaurant that served traditional Roman food and was not too far away. So I rushed to my absolutely fabulous room, had a quick shower and then ten minutes later I was in Trattoria Dell’OMO and found myself to be the only non-Italian in the building. The waiter put down two menus: one was printed in English, French and German and the other was hand-written in Italian.
As I was looking at the menu a young couple, clearly in love, came in. She automatically went with him to his chair and sat on his lap as they read and discussed the menu together. They only disentangled when their food arrived.
I asked the waiter to order the most traditional meal for me. He opted for lasagna and a dish of meat slices from an indeterminate animal lying in a bowl of broth. When I asked about vegetables he said that only potatoes and salad were available and I elected to have the salad.
When I took my first bite of lasagna I knew that it was going to be a very special meal and it was. If it wasn’t the best, it came a close second. Despite having been told of the limited vegetable choices, I saw the waiter carrying a big plate of green which appeared to be spinach to another table and so I requested some too. His look told me that he didn’t think that I was going to like it. The first few mouthfuls were a bit of a shock to the palate but I ate most of the huge portion. It had an acrid, bitter taste with a hint of garlic and Chili. I later found out that the dish is simply named for the major ingredient, ‘weeds’!
I immediately thought of the Italians that are often seen foraging on the side of Brown’s Road just before Borneo Road. Even though I was too full to eat it, I ordered dessert so that I could at least sample their version of Tiramasu. The Italian diners had been letting out sighs of ecstasy with their first mouthfuls so it definitely needed to be tasted. The owner came over and gave me a digestive ‘on the house’. I took a photo of the label on the bottle because I couldn’t distinguish the flavour.
When I got back to the hotel, I showed the photo to the man at the desk and asked him to translate the ingredients. He told me that whatever was the distinguishing flavour wouldn’t be listed. People make their own and never give away family secrets. Some Americans who came to collect their keys overheard the conversation and started guessing. I told them that it had a slight hint of what could have been anise, but no, I was certain that it wasn’t ouzo or saltimbocca. I was very grateful to have had that restaurant recommended. It was a great gastronomic and social experience!
Up in my room I ran a bath and soaked in an exotic aroma while listening to CNN. It was only the second time I had turned on a television in more than a month. Seduced by my luxurious surroundings, I made a quick managerial decision and decided that rather than fight the mob at the train station, I’d splash out and go to the airport in the hotel limousine.
31st May, 2010 – ROME
I’m truly blessed or perhaps ‘charmed’ is a more apt term. I’m sitting here in the Business Class lounge at a lovely desk. The only other opportunities that I’ve had to write have been while traveling from one city to another and compelled to sit still on the train. My journal entries have been sparse and usually only written on those occasions when I wasn’t subject to a convent curfew, I’d already eaten, it was late at night AND I found the rare internet point that was open after 9 p.m.
For over a month now, I have yet to go to sleep before 1 a.m. Remarkably, even after habitually taken a sleeping pill every night, I wake up each morning at around 7. The most sleep I’ve had in one night has been six hours , but I’ve more often managed only 4 or 5. Although I’ve been a long term insomniac, AD (after David) it no longer bothers me if I can’t sleep. I simply let my body decide when it’s time to sleep and quite frequently resist the temptation to resort to drugs to induce sleep other than when I’m away from my own ‘princess bed’. Usually when that happens it is difficult to rouse myself until I’ve had at least ten hours of sleep. My time is my own and I have the luxury of being able to perform anything that would ordinarily be required to achieve in ‘business hours’ at 4 a.m. if I happen to have a sleepless night. The greatest luxury, in my opinion, is time. To own your own time and not be compelled to be a slave to routine and the regimentation of the worker bee, to be able to sleep when you want and wake when you want.
The one routinely exception to this rule is, of course, my weekly date with the Walking Women. I fret that I’ll be late and for that one day of the week I set my alarm and toss and turn fitfully and worry that I won’t get myself organised in the morning to be in Sorrento on the dot of nine. However, for the entire time in Italy I am instantly fully awake and brimming with excitement for what the new day will bring and simply can’t wait to get it started. I’m sure it’s related to how happy I’ve been.
That was simply a long winded way of saying that I’ve been too busy having fun to do too much writing and now I have this wonderful opportunity. When I’ve talked to a few people about my experiences in Italy they are shocked and appalled and immediately think that I’ve had very bad luck. I’ve had a heart attack, my luggage was missing for four days and my passport was stolen. In fact, every ‘bad’ experience had multiple positive outcomes. Other than having a serious medical episode on the plane and the thought that I may not have been permitted to take my long anticipated trip, I really hadn’t been more than momentarily distressed about anything and refused to allow unfortunate incidents spoil my trip. Extremely lucky things have happened to me just about every day. One door might seemed to have closed but ten kinds of good and unexpected things happened over and over again.
I chatted amicably with Luca, the charming and good looking Italian on the British Airways Help Desk when I was about to fly out of Rome on my homeward journey, because I needed information about filing a Lost Luggage claim. When he looked at my passport he noticed the ‘Emergency Passport’ emblazoned across the front cover. I told him about having the original one stolen, that although I had felt a bit vulnerable being ‘persona non grata’ for three days and not being able to book into any hotels or use the Internet (I didn’t tell him about temporarily losing my phone the same night), I quickly came to the conclusion that in the greater scheme of things, it really wasn’t such a big deal. I told him about the wonderful weekend that I had in Venice and how pleased I was to unexpectedly visit Milan with the beautiful Cathedral and the gorgeous fashions. I also told him about some of the wonderful convents and monasteries that I’d stayed in and how economical they were and the great locations of them all. He’d never known that was possible and I promised to send him the email and web links – they certainly don’t pop up on TripAdvisor, or any other similar sites.
He pointed me in the right direction to get my tax rebates and as I passed his desk some 20 minutes later, he came out from behind it say that he really admired my attitude, that he was a Buddhist and strove to adopt my attitude of ‘when bad things happen, twice the amount of good things will follow’. Then he told me that he’d called the Business Class Lounge and told them to expect me as his guest.
Especially as I’d arrived at the airport four hours instead of the required two hours before my flight in anticipation of the usual slow Italian administration procedures, and those had only taken twenty minutes, and the plane was running forty-five minutes behind schedule, it was a real treat!

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