Italy Day 7 – The Michelangelo and the Strada Masters

 Mandy got us early tickets to the Accademia Gallery, so we’re in as small a crowd as possible in this busy museum.  Of course, the star of the show is the original statue of David, Michelangelo’s crowing masterpiece.  Whenever I go to see such an exhibit, I wonder why the particular blockbuster piece has become so famous, eclipsing the other masters that fill the halls.  In this case, the sheer size of the piece certainly contributes to the stature of the statue.  But the informative sign next to it really captures why.  Michelangelo found a block of abandoned granite in a courtyard in Florence and asked if he could use it, so the whole thing starts with a redemption story.  He carved David, the original underdog in his fight against Goliath.  Besieged on all sides, the tiny city of Firenze loves an underdog story every bit as much as Philadelphia.  Then he executed the piece better than anyone ever had, capturing motion and moment, just like the Philly Special on fourth down.

As much we enjoyed David, I may have enjoyed the Gipsoteca Bartolini gallery even more.  This space features plaster casts, the working models, from hundreds of sculptures.  It’s a real look behind the curtain as to how these pieces came into existence and just fascinating to me.  Now that we know everything there is possibly to know about art, we leave the museum, through the gift shop of course.

It’s hard, maybe impossible to be in Florence for the first time and not get excited about the leather goods.  It’s a chicken and egg thing - Bistecca alla Florentina and leather goods – but they both permeate the city.  We’ve seen everything from the street huckster stalls (begging you to come in) to the ultra-high-end brands (with locked doors so you have to beg to come in.)  We find an owner run shop open early with very nice quality and design.  Mandy feels comfortable right away, as the owner suggests a few pieces that perfectly compliment her petite frame.  We both settle on our selections then have them shipped home so we don’t have to struggle with the additional baggage at the airport.

In the shopping mood, we take another look at the street artists.  Yesterday’s winds have died down and it’s warmer, so there are double or triple the number of painters lining the squares.  Fortunately, the crowds are quite a bit smaller, too.  We look at works by a dozen artists or so, all Masters in their own right, but connect with one woman’s work in particular.  Mandy picks out a monochrome nude, and the artist says “Oh, of course you like her.  You are American, she was a strong woman”, referring to the model. 
“Is she a strong woman?” The artist asks me, pointing to Mandy.  I need only to smile.

Within minutes, she and Mandy are deep in conversation.  As an artist in one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world, she has become a kind of sociologist, and discusses her impressions of women from various countries.  At the end she throws in an additional piece “for you, from me, so you’ll always remember me good.”

Lunch in a sidewalk café, front row gives great people watching.  It’s like the UN with shopping bags.  We take coffee like a local standing at the bar, strong espresso, Mandy an old pro at this by now.  Back to our very civilized retreat on the square for naps, refreshes and generally being in the lovely space.

Exploring the streets early evening, we end up along the river towards the setting sun.  Well kind of setting sun.  The sun dips behind a building as a faux sunset, but if you missed it, just take a few more steps and watch it happen again.  It’s an on-demand option offered by this town, very convenient for us turistas indeed.  Dinner is at Rooster, a well-reviewed restaurant in the swank shopping district.  If Trattoria Marione last night represents what dining has been, Rooster represents what dining is becoming.  Well appointed, smartly decorated, the menu heavily influenced by the traditional but with some modern tweaks.  Culinary evolution hasn’t stopped here, it just goes at an Italian pace.

Italy Day 6 – Culture Shock (or An Oasis on the Square)

Breakfast and arrivedercis, one last bounce down the long dirt road ensuring yet another rental car deposit to be forfeited.  Mandy weeps as we leave the Tuscan countryside, such is the emotion this place elicits.  Regaining composure, she resumes her duties as navigator, Ellen Griswold to my Clark.  

The highways are great here and we get to the Florence city limits in about an hour.  Florence streets are infamous, so it takes another 30 minutes to get to the rental car dropoff in the historical center.  The closer we get the more frenetic the pace, the more narrow the streets and the more dense the pedestrians.  We sacrifice a handful of tourists in the last few blocks in the name of progress, and the cabbie, a cute but fiery woman of about 30, takes out a few more on the final approach to our hotel.  The place is packed packed packed during this end of the high season.  Romantic couples, wedding parties, guided groups and oblivious selfiers buzz the piazzas and connecting streets.  Our hotel is on the corner of Piazza Della Signoria, the famous square in front of the Palazzo Vecchio and home of the Ufizzi Gallery.  Coming from the tranquility of the Tuscan countryside, we have a physical reaction not unlike that of too much espresso, which we probably also had. 

The door to the ten room In Piazza Della Signoria B&B is marked only by the number “2” nameplate to the right of the doorway and the name in small letters by the buzzer to the left.  Walking in, our pulse immediately settles.  A warm reception by family members and we are shown to our room.  Huge by any international city standards, three times the size of the average hotel room in Paris or NYC.  The rooms are named after the Masters, and ours, Leonardo, is beautifully adorned with high ceilings, period correct furnishings, fantastic artwork and two big windows overlooking the square.  It’s a much-appreciated oasis from the craziness outside. 

We set out, through the square to the Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge over the Amo River, enjoying the street artists along the way.  Although the artists typically paint what sells, depictions of the Duomo, Fierenze cityscapes and Tuscan landscapes, we start to notice each artist’s individuality and aesthetic.  Scattered in at each stand are a few passion pieces, markedly different then the rest and a peek into the artist’s sense of their art. 

Mandy pre-purchased tickets for the Ufizzi and thank god she did.  The lines are crazy, but we’re inside in about 10 minutes.  Loaded with the Italian greats, my favorite is Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, which we take a few special minutes to absorb. 

On Lindsey’s recommendation we have dinner at Trattoria Marione, a dining institution in Florence for many decades.  We’re seated at tables elbow-to-elbow with other diners and order traditional dishes such as Bistecca alla Florentina, a massive roasted T-Bone they serve only rare (perfecto!)  We watch as table of four large European men, we assume a bike team, order then each quickly slurp down enormous plates of fresh made pasta and entire roasted chickens and potatoes and are out the door before our entrée arrives.  In true Italian style, dinner ends with small crisp biscotti with a glass of sweet dessert wine for dipping.  The high end shops are closed, market merchants packed away for the night and the streets are mostly cleared as we stroll leisurely back to our flat in the cool autumn air.  Viva la romance!

 

Italy Day 5 – Cooking and Connections

We have a relaxed day planned.  As we leave Lupaia, we are still amazed at the beauty of the world around us.  We stop to take yet more pictures along the dirt road leading out.  I wonder how the landscape is not all faded out by the countless tourists taking countless pictures over the last hundred or so years since photography was invented.  I can only assume that preservationists from each town retouch the landscape at the start of every season.

We head to Cugusi, the cheese maker who supplies our inn, just a few miles away.  I come to understand that the long dirt road to our inn isn’t some rustic anomaly, it’s just how things are here.  A few paved main roads circle and bisect the town, and all the roads off it are the dusty unpaved type immortalized in the paintings.  As we approach the shop, we slam the brakes as a heard of sheep are shepherded across the lane.  Mandy thanks them for this morning’s ricotta as she takes their picture.  The shop, set on its own lovely vista, sells primarily Pecorino in a number of varieties.  We chose a number of varieties then meander the grounds, taking in the landscape and grazing livestock. 

Back at Lupaia, we meet Chef Andrea for a private cooking lesson.  Andrea has an Italian charm and teasing sense of humor.  We start by cutting the vegetables for a ragu, which are sautéed in plenty of local oil.  Once the veggies change color, we add a full kilo of ground beef to the heavy pot.  Meanwhile we prepare a fresh salad with fresh vegetables and fruits.  For a twist, we make Pecorino bowls for the salad in an omelette pan, melting the cheese the draping lacey result over a ramekin for shape.  We make three different types of bruschetta, which when complete, are arranged red, white and green like the Italian flag.  For the entrée, we hand make pasta, but Chef adds a second pasta dish and second sauce to our lesson when Mandy brings up a favorite dish from a restaurant back home.  Lunch was delicious.  (editors note: details of this episode have been left out to protect the invitees of our upcoming dinner party.)  We enjoyed the property for the remainder of the afternoon, happily sleepy from our carb-heavy meal. 

We wander back up the mountain to Montepulciano with no plan.  The town is winding down for the evening and we start looking for somewhere to get a nightcap.  There is no American bar culture here, so we look for a restaurant to get a glass of wine.  We pull into a rare available parking spot in front a nice café across from San Biagio, the town’s famous massive cathedral.  As we park, the bells of the church start to sound.  I turn to Mandy “see, we’re meant to be here.”  I had no idea what a harbinger those bells were.  We walk into the café, but are rejected as they are fully booked.  Walking out we see signs for a wine shop offering tastings next door, rare to be open after 7.  Seems to be our last option so we walk in. 

The shop is tiny, maybe twelve feet square.  It is packed, packed, packed with wines, cheeses and meats, generous samples on every conceivable surface.  We start speaking to Stella, the shopkeeper, a petite woman who turns out to be the owner.  She is animated telling us about her offerings and encourages us to try everything.  Varieties of Pecorino, including pepper and fruit variations, are among the best we have had, high praise considering the last few days.  “Do you love Truffles?” she asks.  I don’t really, but she’s so enthusiastic about the white truffle cheese that we oblige as she drizzles thick balsamic reduction over the soft formaggio.  Wowsers.  Now I understand what all the fuss is about.  A smartly dressed younger woman enters, carrying an armful of colorful folders and is introduced as “my economist”.  I’m thinking accountant, but Sara actually has a Masters in Economics.  Sara knows the shop well, plucks a few of her favorite samples, and effortlessly joins the conversation.

We learn of the farm, in the family for generations.  The fields, the vineyards, the livestock.  The traditional methods still employed today, organic since before you had to call it so.  The pours of her family vino, Pulcino, are as generous as her natural warmth.  Stella’s conversation turns to life and love, space and air, peace and fulfilment.  Both she and her husband are both yoga masters with a studio in their estate in Sicily.  Mandy practices yoga regularly, and we all feel this connection growing.  Somehow, we are supposed to be in this place at this time.  Stella mentions her age, same as ours, and Mandy uncharacteristically askes what month she was born.  “August”, Stella replies.

“I knew it! What day?” Mandy presses.

“Venti quattro.  The 24^th”

The room falls silent.  Stella is confused.  “That’s his birthday, too”, says Mandy, pointing to me.  Stella wells up.  “It’s my husband’s too.”

I speak “And my grandfathers”.

We WhatsApp her husband, a man published in Metaphysics and we feel his energy through the ether.  Stella gives us books in Italian, one of her husband’s titles and one her family’s history.  We are invited to the estate to stay, “make yoga, cook, eat and be.”  We leave with hugs and kisses and blessings, woozey from whatever that was that just happened.  It’s just been that kind of trip.

(editor’s note: on day 8 of this trip, we visit Pompeii.  As it turns out, the day Vesuvius erupts and changes the course of history for Pompeii is August 24^th, 79AD.  Chills.)

Italy Day 4 – Pilgrimage to the Brunello

Because of the big mountains to our east, we can sleep in and still catch the sunrise over the peaks.  Very convenient for vacationers indeed.  Breakfast at the inn includes mostly local fare, the cheeses and cured meats being highlights.  Cappuccino from the stainless steel two head La Cimbali gets us charged for the next adventure, a tour around the Tuscan countryside.

We plot a southern arc out of town, seeing the iconic Cypress lined driveways, these tall narrow trees a feature of every painting of the area.  We stop and take myriad exposures of the landscape, another sweeping vista around each bend.  Our first stop is Bagno Vignoni, the ancient village with a twist.  What in a traditional town would be the main square is a 50 yard by 30 yard pool, fed by a natural spring.  The pool is channeled through a series of small aquifers over a cliff down to the Parco di Mulini, a large mineral bath with a silky soft mineral layer lining the bottom.  Mandy’s working theory is that, that in a past life (and mostly in this life), I was a big wet dog, specifically a Labrador, and my tail is wagging.  Fortunately, our cheap Amazonian water shoes are still in the car, set there to dry after our morning dip in Como.  Mandy hikes up her dress as we enter the refreshing, healing water for a cool dip during the late season heat. 

Back on the road, we set our sights on Castello Banfi, creators of the wine that changes my life.  Admittedly, I an a total amateur when it comes to wine.  I always figured that, like art and sex, you don’t have to know what’s good, just what you like.  A bunch of years ago, I learned my first rule of wine: you can’t go wrong with a Tuscan red.  The same brothers who taught me that Crimson Rule also gave me my first glass of Banfi Brunello.  I’ve never been the same.  Turns out, like art and sex, the more you have, the more you try, the more you appreciate the good stuff.  And now here we are, just a few short minutes to the aptly named Castle. 

ASIDE – CACTUS TALES:  Predictably, the final approach to Castello Banfi is along a Cypress lined drive.  Mandy gets out to take some photos and I notice the completely unexpected… a cactus with huge pads and cactus flowers in full bloom just yards from the grape vines.  I grab the Canon and set up my shot.  I can already see it in my mind.  Red cactus bulb in the foreground with out of focus grape vines in the aft.  I crouch to frame the shot.  Shoot a few frames, crouch lower to get it just right.  My elbow barely brushes the cactus and I feel the sting of a needle in my joint.  I pull away and finish the shoot.  Walking the few steps to car, I touch my shirt sleeve and realize there is an entire bloom of spines sticking out.  Closing the car door, I tell Mandy, who doesn’t get it at first.  “Damn!” then spends the next 10 minutes pulling out as many as she can.  Apparently with wine, like with art and sex, sometimes there’s a little pain involved.

We go into the vaulted tasting room, every bit the cathedral to their offerings.  At the far end of the room is the tasting bar.  Our timing is good as several small groups are just finishing.  Our sommelier has a British accent and a thorough knowledge of the entire line, which is far more extensive than I realized.  We order two different tastings so we can share and try more varieties.  Good thing we did as the pours are enormous and six glasses are laid out before us.  We get a lesson on what the good years are and why, and we decide what pleases our palate, dismissing really good and great for the truly amazing.  Surprisingly, cost and favorites don’t correlate for us, as we connect to bottles across the price range. 

Expectedly, it’s later than we expected when we finally roll.  Our northern arc back to Lupaia takes us through San Quirco, and we stop mostly because Mandy likes the name.  Another ancient walled town, but it captures our attentions with its laid back vibe.  Wandering the narrow streets we see an arrowed sign for a Trattoria al Vecchio Forno.  A man approaches us speaking very little English, so we use universal head nods, arm gestures and mouth noises to understand that he works at the bistro and will lead us there.  Adorable doesn’t cover it.  If this was in Epcot, I’d say they overshot, too theatrical and staged.  But it’s live, in this village, in the heart of Tuscany.  We order traditional pasta dishes every bit as perfect as the place itself. 

We take our time driving back, and the phrase “never gets old” applies to each successive panorama.  Chill in the room, consider living here forever, shower.  Regrouped, we head into Montepulciano just a few minutes away, straight up.  The main square is defined by the contents of each side: the expected massive church, the town hall, the statue-like public well and, most importantly, the home of the Contucci winery and residence.  Clearly an economic and social force in this region, the winery has been in the family for forty-one generations (thousands of years!), and generations 40 and 41 live upper levels of this massive building and still oversee the making of the world famous Vino Nobile (the very same one I am drinking as I write this).

Why we are hungry is anyone’s guess, but it probably has to do with all the wine.  Off the square we wander into a tiny restaurant who can blessedly seat us (Pro tip: always make a reservation as most restaurants are tiny and book completely before the doors open at 7:30.) (Pro tip: all the restaurants open at 7:30.)  This is an authentic family run operation with at least three generations working tonight.  The provisions are top quality and local.  The antipasto is our best to date, with the most delicious salami, sliced paper thin like prosciutto.  The lamb is superb, simply grilled, lightly salted.  We bounce home up the long unpaved road, appreciating in real time what a special moment we are having.

Italy Day 3 (pt. 2) – Under the Tuscan Moon

Mandy’s Italian fantasy, besides me of course, involves the Tuscan countryside.  It’s easy to understand why.  Countless movies have been shot here depicting the rolling hills, fields of grape vines and olive trees and the saffron colored structures dotting the landscape.  The last leg of today’s journey takes us deep into this real live movie set just outside of the walled city of Montepulciano.  The last two miles to our slice of this picturesque heaven takes us down a windy, hilly, bumpy, dusty, washed out dirt farm road to smack dab in the middle of that Tuscan field you have always imagined.  In the middle of that field, at the top, sits Lupaia  (pronounced loo-PIE-ya), an ancient estate of Tuscan buildings renovated into a dozen guest cottages with the sweeping panoramic views every romantic dreams of. 

It’s breathtaking.  The professional website pictures can’t do it justice.   We are greeted by our hostess who shows us around the main building and the grounds, careful to point out each feature and amenity.  Here is the working Tuscan kitchen, replete with red and white checkerboard backwall.  There’s a pair of infinity pools overlooking the valley and onto the town of Montefollonico.  Our bags are attended to by a young man with a wicker sided wagon and we are seated on the main lawn and offered welcome drinks.  Mandy gets the Prosecco and, for some reason, the Tuscan white appeals to me.  Who know white wine was a thing around here?  Oh, it is.  Left alone for the first time, we drop the cool façade and allow ourselves that GASP we’ve been holding in since we arrived.  Oh. My. God.  (fistbump, highfive, smileyface, smileyface, smileyface!)

We’re walked to our cottage, a classic style subtly appointed in shades of white and pale unfinished natural wood.  White roses in bloom frame the front door, just past the old olive tree in the courtyard.  Did I mention this place is exactly what we always imagined?  It’s worth mentioning again.  The compact bungalow is open plan with vaulted ceilings, a sitting area facing the original fireplace and tall, narrow windows towards Montepulciano.  The bed abuts a half wall, the other side of which is the freestanding clawfoot tub.  Stop.  Breathe.  Absorb.  Long kiss.

Dinner is on-property.  Good thing because we’re not ready to leave yet, not even for a minute.  We walk out and are halted by the sight of the full moon radiant in the cloudless sky, bathing the entire valley in its glow.  Chef Andrea has prepared a four course pre-fixe to be served on the outdoor patio through the doors past the kitchen.  We are seated, greet the other guests nearby and start with the local Brunello.  First course is a “fried egg”, a soft boiled egg peeled then breaded and lightly fried, served over toasted pané with a Pecorino béchamel.  Best egg sandwich ever.  Risotto with mixed veggies for our il primo, creamy and rich, tenderly al dente.  Secondi is an expertly prepared filet of deliciousness, beef in a luscious pan reduction.  Andrea-made tiramisu rounds out the evening. 

We stroll back, stars of our own Federico Fellini film.  Cliché be dammed… La Dolce Vita is everything they advertised it to be.

Italy Day 3 (pt. 1) – Leaving Como

We have a long drive planned.  Mandy wakes to her 6:30 alarm, bleary, walks in to the bath.  I roll over one eye open.  “Lets go in the lake”.  Her response is simply “let me brush my teeth first."  I thought of it as I was drifting off last night and was really expecting more resistance.  We put on our suits and cheap Amazonian water shoes and five minutes later we’re at the water’s edge.  The water is smooth, soft and cool as I take her hand and we step in.  Not freezing, another step.  Only three steps from shore and we’re above Mandy’s knees. She pauses, I plunge.  Brrrrrrrr, but only a second.  A minute later she’s all the way too.  Very few words, but we both know.  There’s no way we could be here and not go in here.  Baptized, not into some religion, but into the region, this place.

Showers, packed, loaded then down for breakfast.  Goodbyes to our host and hostess and we’re on the crazy little road towards the town of Como and beyond.  It’s Sunday morning and, just like in the States, time for bikers to do long training rides and the other kind of bikers to meet up for motorcycle touring.  We run into plenty of packs of both winding our way along the lake road for the final time.

Two plus hours to our first stop in Parma, birthplace of parma.  The town is humming with early tourists, local families leaving church and the ever present old men drinking dark espresso from tiny cups while pretending to read the paper.  Mandy has been wanting to have a proper coffee standing at the bar, and we find the perfect place to oblige her just off the main square.  We explore a little more and enjoy a proper panini artfully displayed in a café window.

Back on the road towards Tuscany.  The Italian highways are amazing, and we pass through at least 25 tunnels in succession, some many miles long.  We set the GPS for Castelo Monterinaldi in the Chianti region.  This well-established, well-secluded winery sits on the top of a mountain of the same name and starts their wine tasting with a sample of their olive oil, strong, peppery and with a spice that immediately hits the back of your throat.  The wine complex and rich, nothing like that wicker encased grape juice we had back in the day.  We spend a few minutes admiring the grounds before we climb back into our now very dusty rental for the last leg of the day’s journey.