Odds and Ends, and back to Firenze

The pool at the country Hotel Pescille: it must be noted that the pool was unheated. I (Davide Massimo, TARZAN STALLONE) gingerly and slowly dipped in and stayed for a leisurely SOLO swim. Valerie (pool lover extraordinaire) absconded to the hot tub after losing our bet for a glass of wine later.

Up early in San G, streets quiet and damp from the violent thunderstorm yesterday. I walked to the nearby cafe for un budino (that's the correct spelling) di riso and a doppio espresso. Sat in the almost empty cafe and enjoyed the quiet.

San Gimignano

We drove to Fiesole in rain. The highway is a narrow 4-lane version of 401 (Ontario) or the Coquihala (BC). About halfway there, on the other side of the median (traffic coming in the opposite direction), one transport truck took the curve a bit too fast, and slammed into the rock face against the inside lane, and a second truck, perhaps trying to pass the first, neatly wedged the two of them between rock and median to entirely block both lanes. We could not imagine how the trucks would be dislodged and towed away. There is simply no access, aside from backing up from the next exit along the highway - very tedious to get to. Meanwhile, the traffic backed up for miles behind them, the drivers unaware that they were likely to spend the day helplessly trapped on the road. 

TomTom (our Rue Pal) delivers the shortest route to one's destination. My god. Not knowing the roads intimately, I can't tell when she has decided to trust me with the lives of several hundred innocent Italian pedestrians and motorists, and Valerie too, on an insider's tour of tiny, obscure highways. The road to Fiesole is uphill, and the most direct route is on single-lane paved roadways that snake around blind corners that are, here and there, provided with convex mirrors to check for oncoming formula one drivers. It's like the single track roads in northern England and Scotland ... when cars meet, one driver has to pull over or back up, or lose a mirror or a fender. The difference here is that you're not pulling over into a grassy verge with a few sheep for company. It's bumper cars within ancient stone walls on all sides. Only in places like this do I find Italian drivers too aggressive. Generally, there's no problem.

Golden Arches at a highway rest stop.Very chic, great espresso.

Although ... Firenze is a real shit storm for driving. It's a great feeling to ditch the car back at Avis with no new damage. TomTom gets plenty of credit.

I'm rambling here because Valerie is doing a class at a nearby dance academy; so I have a couple of hours to kill. Indulge me. We're back in the funky Oltrarno of Firenze. It's chilly, but pleasant at this table outdoors with a glass of red and yet another plate of melt-in-your-mouth prosciutto melone. My table is within spitting distance of Masaccio's breakout frescos at Santa Maria del Carmine. I'll wander over, but I imagine the church has closed for the night. Masaccio was another of those great artists who died far too young (Raphael, Giorgione, Jimi Hendrix, John Candy). What a future he might have had.

Train to Venezia tomorrow.

Lunch in Fiesole: Gihan and Veshvaravi (not sure I have the spelling correct) - from Oxford. She a neuroscientist, he ...?