Siena, Assisi, and back to Florence

Travel journal continued...

April 17, 2006

Tuesday morning and I am blind as a bat after a long night and longer day. Before we left the US, the Guy picked up an international driver's license from the AAA, and we put it to good use. We rented a car yesterday from Hertz (hurrah for globalism!) in Florence, a tiny little Peugeot that looked like it was designed and created using a box of legos. Very cute. Our aim was to hit Siena, which guidebooks said was "not to be missed" -- because guidebooks lie -- but more importantly to get a view of the Tuscan countryside, which everyone tells us is also not to be missed. Everyone tells the truth. (Guidebooks still lie, however.)

The drive was beautiful, through winding roads that disappeared from time to time into mountains. The Guy kept muttering about how fantastic it would be to ride a motorcycle down these roads, and I swear he yearned after the ones that sped past us. There were more than a few. At one point, he lectured to me at great length about the various motorcycles available in Italy.

I think it alleviated his feelings somewhat. He was much happier when he was done.

The Tuscan countryside was literally like a picture postcard, though I suppose it really is the other way around. Picture postcards are like the Tuscan countryside. Rolling countryside, and panoramic views, pretty much as you would imagine it looked like in the days of the Roman villas and vineyards. Not much has changed over a few thousand years, though I might be imagining that. Like much of Italy that we've seen before, it has a tremendous feeling of age and tradition that just leaves me breathless. Most of the buildings look like they were passed down through generations, after some great- great- grandfather named something like "Flavius" first built it with his own two hands.

The Guy looking conflicted. He really wanted a motorcycle.

Like I said, Siena was not quite what we expected, though we honestly did not have all that much in expectations. It was crowded and beyond crowded with tourists. Yesterday was a holiday in Italy, and it seemed like everybody and their brother had decided to read the same guidebooks. Still, it was rather fun walking through the really narrow streets. You are surrounded by high walls and little shops, most of them closed, and there is a definitely feudal military air to the design, as though the intent was to confuse and trap attacking armies. Florence apparently besieged Siena at one point in its history, and halved its population. No doubt that was in the minds of the city fathers when they rebuild (or repaired, whichever the case may be.)

After a while you walk down this flight of dark and cramped stairs, and are suddenly in the town square, which is this massive plaza that is completely open. The contrast between narrow and cramped and broad and vast is incredible. I imagine that the architects might have been those rare individuals who actually remember the act of being born.

Unfortunately, the pictures we took weren't really able to do it justice.

By around 3 pm we had had our lunch (spectacular food. Absolutely spectacular) and were done seeing the city, so we walked the million miles back to our car. We'd made a sudden change of plans the night before and extended our stay in the pensione in Florence, so we had someplace to spend the night.

Given the security of knowing we'd have a bed for the night, when the Guy proposed Assisi, I was game.

Off we went. It was a long drive, about two hours and well out of our way, but it was definitely worth it. I think it will end up having been one of my favorite stops in Italy.

Both the husband and I have always had a soft spot for St. Francis. The Guy was educated by Franciscan monks, and I ended up in San Francisco. It is a high walled city way on top of a hill, and regular cars are not allowed up there, so we parked below and did some more hiking to get up to the Basilica, where he is buried. Then we wandered around. Again, narrow streets and sudden, breathstaking plazas. The city does not seem to have changed much over the last thousand or so years.

You can't tell from the pictures, but the entire city is a subtle shade of pink. When the sun starts to set, the walls glow. I've never really thought of pink as a particularly spiritual color, but when you really think about St. Francis, it sort of works for him.

I mean, if any saint is going to be pink, it would be the one who gave his name to San Francisco.

Since it's built on a giant hill, there are stairs everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. You would climb up this narrow alleyway and find yourself faced with these fascinating doorways that could lead anywhere, and stairs climbing up into who knows what. We got pleasantly lost meandering through those stairs, and had a grand old time peeking into people's gardens from above.

Even though there were quite a few tourists there, the isolation of the higher streets meant that we could sometimes feel all alone, like the city was mostly deserted. It was fabulous.

We wandered around for a while, exploring the old city, then headed back down to the car.

My husband outside the Basilica where St. Francis is buried. He is sort of a dork.

We drove back and got to the pensionne around 1130. Oy. I had my fill of adventure. Driving in Italy is insane. Italians have the most arbitrary concepts of lanes, and will often refuse to pick one, driving instead in a kind of salsa dance line down the middle. Also, they do not seem particularly enamoured of labeling their streets. There was much swearing on the way home, especially after it started to rain. Nerve wracking.

Off to Manarola today to meet up with Mom. Wish us luck.