Last leg of our tour, Switzerland and France

Monday, 7/1

We slept a bit longer than we had planned in the cushy beds of marshmallow fluff, such a contrast from the racks we slept on the night before.   Just before 10 am,  we traipsed down stairs to try the breakfast buffet, they were just about to close it up but we managed to compile generous plates from the items that were left. However, there were some offerings we were not quite familiar with.   The chef brought out a little surprise, a pear yogurt drink, delicious, but Joyce mistook it for cream and put it in her coffee by mistake.  She was not alone in culinary blunders this morning.  While Greg and Joyce went for the scrambled eggs, I spotted a lonesome egg in its shell and opted for it thinking it was hard boiled.  Back at the table when I cracked it, I found it was raw, I had missed the fact that it was sitting by a pot of boiling water which I should have used to cook it to the desired level. Greg was not left out of our blunders.  He helped himself to some speck (a ham like bacon) and found a piece of crispy looking toast under the meat in the serving tray.  He helped himself to the bread thinking it was something like French toast, not realizing it was merely used as sponge to absorb the bacon grease, it was not intended for consumption.  Anyhow, we all learned something about Swiss breakfast!  I had read in the room info that there was a hiking/jogging trail which started at our parking lot and ended at a castle.  We dressed to be active and hit the trail.  Greg and I jogged while Joyce walked swiftly behind.  The trail was well marked with signs, so we could all keep our own pace and end at the same destination.  Up a hill, through the woods, past a farmhouse, near a fenced garden, all the while with views of the lake, I ran with joy and energy.  When I crested the hill near the castle, Greg was climbing the steep stairs just below the castle hill and Joyce was approaching the base.  I still was not tired out, so I followed a path into the forest toward the lake.  Many steep stairs led down to a cow pasture and further down to the edge of the water.  There was a giant statue of Jesus that stood at the shoreline, (like the maidenhead?….on the prow of a ship).  A lip of land jutted out over the water like a cliff revealing excellent views of the whole lake.  I knew Greg would enjoy getting right down to the water, but knowing Joyce’s view of stairs, I was pretty sure she would want to skip it.  I jogged back up quickly, thinking I could bring Greg down before Joyce crested the hill but when I emerged neither of them were in sight.  I skirted the castle and found a garden area, knowing  my love of gardens I figured if we were separated they would look for me there.  A moment later I heard a whistle and found Greg perched on a bench resting.  Joyce had contemplated the steep stairs and thought better of it, heading back to her room to rest, so I took the opportunity to show Greg the beautiful view of the lake from the base of the path.  We jogged back and found Joyce drinking lots of water.  She said she was saving her energy for sightseeing later today. 

So off we went back into the city, but this time we took the ferry that left from the dock of our hotel.  We were on board with a class of about twenty kindergarten age Swiss children, who were very well behaved and adorable.  It was a beautiful thirty minute pleasure cruise, stopping at three other docks along the way, and then we arrived near the train station again.  Back in the main part of town, we visited the lion monument in honor of fallen Swiss soldiers and grabbed a quick traditional lunch of Swiss Raclette (potatoes, pickles, onions and cheese and Rosti (a hashbrown-type potato dish topped with vegetables and cheese). We passed a chocolate shop and had to indulge our sweet tooths. Joyce tried the milk chocolate and caramel while Greg and I sampled a white chocolate with cognac, a milk chocolate with lemon yogurt and a dark chocolate truffle.  After a bit more window shopping, it was time to catch the 5 pm ferry back to our hotel.  Greg and I decided to take advantage of the Swiss spa experience to relax before dinner, while Joyce decided to enjoy the view from her room. The Wellness center of our hotel was on the ground floor and glass doors led out to the sunbathing lawn.  Inside, there were various spa choices to try. The Damp Room was like a shower filled with menthol steam.  We could take about ten deep breaths before feeling like me might pass out, so we tried another room. The Sanitarium was pretty with  pinholes of light from the ceiling creating a star effect when you laid down on the wooden benches.  This room was hot, but not too hot.  The smell of cedar was pleasant and calming.  The Sauna looked much like the Sanitarium, minus the star ceiling. The difference was that the moist air was scalding hot; it stung our lungs and skin, we couldn’t even stay in for a full minute.  So we went back to the damp room to take deep breaths in hopes the my lungs would be cured of this rattling cough I’ve had for two weeks now. (I am happy to say, I think I may finally be cured).  Our final adventure was sitting in a glass closet together, that had a heater focused on your spine, it was called the Infrared cabinet.  It made our backs hot but we didn’t notice any other effects positive or negative, so it was back to the damp room again.  Pleasantly exhausted, we collapsed into lounge chairs and drank copious amounts of spring water, feeling like overcooked limp noodles.   Back in our room after cool showers, we felt refreshed, relaxed, and ready for dinner.   We had an indulgent meal in the hotel restaurant of fried Zander fish pieces with potatoes and carrot salad. We enjoyed a caramel custard for dessert along with some coffee and turned in early, another travel day will come in the morning. 

Tuesday, 7/2

This morning we mastered the Swiss breakfast experience!  Joyce drank her special yogurt instead of putting it in her coffee, Greg avoided the greasy bread, and I successfully cooked my own boiled egg! By 10 am we were on a train for Basel where we transferred to another train for Strasbourg.  It was hot in Strasbourg as we hiked the cobbled streets looking at gothic churches and quaint lanes.  We had our first French lunch, just a quick bite.  We enjoyed the texture of the buckwheat crepes and the melty gruyere cheese, but I was surprised and a bit disappointed that the vegetables inside were all canned.  While I doubted the artichoke hearts would be fresh, because they are out of season, canned tomatoes were a disappointing surprise, especially because on our way into town we saw slews of vegetable gardens along the train tracks.  Oh well, perhaps they were community gardens, at least the residents of Strasbourg are eating fresh! Our objective in visiting Strasbourg, the capital of the European union, was not culinary in nature, or even political.  It was all about the beer!  I had read that Strasbourg was famous for beer and wanted Greg to have a chance to try it, as he is a big fan of European brews.  The two restaurants famous for serving local brews were unfortunately closed this early, but we did find a shop that sold bottles, so Greg tried out his French with the owner and was able to get some recommendations for a few bottles to-go.  Back on the train, it was sweltering.  No air conditioning in our car for some reason, so Joyce and I dozed in our seats eager to get off the train in Colmar.  A sweaty thirty minutes later, we arrived.  After a brief conversation with two friendly bus drivers, Greg had us on a bus toward our B and B.  The closest bus stop turned out to not be as close a walk to our destination as we had planned due to recent construction on the town’s main museum, so we had to walk several blocks out of the way.  Following an unscheduled tour of the city’s circumference with all of our belongings on our backs, we arrived at our home for the next few days.  In an old timbered house on the cobbled streets of Colmar is the Martin Jund B and B and winery.  It boasts simple and inexpensive rooms that are clean and quaint.  We dropped our bags and all took a nap!  Luckily it was not hot in our rooms despite the lack of air conditioning because a storm had started brewing while we napped.

Outside, dark clouds gathered and a cold breeze started to blow.  Both of the restaurants I had ear-marked to try for dinner were closed.  So we wandered the streets in search of something that looked good.  We finally found a restaurant with some menu items we thought we understood and were willing to try.  We blew inside on the gusty breeze and settled at a small table near the kitchen.  Greg tried to communicate with our waiter in French, but quickly realized he was out of his depth so proceeded to explain in English.  Our waiter looked panicked and quickly fled to the other room returning with a young lady who could speak some English. Greg continued to enjoy the Alsace beer tradition, ordering a recommended aperitif of a locally brewed, slightly sweet and very flavorful glass of beer.  Joyce and I ordered quiche and a salad while Greg opted for a vegetarian lasagna. We all enjoyed some wine and watched ravenously as the desserts came out of kitchen.  We decided to share scoops of creamy yellow French vanilla ice cream mounded with fudgy hot chocolate and billowy cream.  Magnificent!  It turned out that our initially frustrated waiter was very eager to please.  In the end, he introduced the young lady he had grabbed for a translator as his daughter!  More proof that family is also important to the residents in the small towns of France. 

Wednesday, 7/3

The next day we awoke to the sound of rain falling gently on the cobbled streets of Colmar. Initially we thought me might hire a driver for the day to tour some of the local wineries and nearby towns but we were feeling lazy and wanted to stay close to our home base.  We leisurely made our way downstairs for breakfast having slept comfortably in our small but quaint rooms. Breakfast consisted of a baguette or croissant, butter, local cheese and homemade strawberry or plum and cassis jam and plenty of coffee.  A glass of organic white grape juice is what we came to affectionately call “morning wine”.  Joyce opted to read in her room as Greg and I went for a jog around the park. All of the waiting at street lights and checking maps to get to the park made me ache for the wide open trails of Lucerne and Pienza, but the park was beautifully planted with flowers and an old carousel added to its charms.  We cleaned up and headed out to Sezanne for lunch.  Some friends of ours back home had recommended this small restaurant to us.  It boded well that downstairs was a charcuterie and cheese shop.  Up stairs, there were maybe eight tables and one waiter/chef who was eager to explain the menu to us and was able to speak enough English that we felt satisfied we had ordered exactly what we wanted.  I had a rich and saucy cannelloni with ricotta and spinach, Greg had the fragrant duck and mushroom pie, Joyce ordered a tartine (open faced sandwich) with melted gruyere cheese and savory thinly sliced ham.  Each of our meals came with a crisp small green salad.  “I can’t believe I ate it all,” was our lament as we felt bursting from the seams but deeply contented with the delicious food and wine that our server had carefully matched to each dish.  Could we say no to dessert and coffee?  Certainly not as beautifully plated small bites were offered to share.  A molded dark chocolate cup held mounds of vanilla bean rice pudding shared the plate with a small caramelly almond cake, a citrusy handmade marshmallow (that Greg called something akin to the Easter candy, Peeps) and a blood orange puree with puffed rice topped with goose berries and strawberries.  After our culinary twirl for the senses, we paid our compliments to the chef and headed for the museum in an attempt to walk off our lunch, hoping that we would be ready for our dinner reservation in four hours. 

We made our way through the slick streets viewing storks nesting atop old churches and ducking into cute shops along the way. When we arrived at Museum Unterlinden we could see it was housed in an old monastery. Most of the artwork were old alter pieces from the church and regional artifacts.  I enjoyed seeing the collections of swords and daggers.  Greg enjoyed seeing the harpsichord and glass harmonica.  Joyce really enjoyed listening to the English descriptions of each piece through her headset.  The most fascinating bit of history that struck me about this monastery, was that the monks there had ministered to victims of ergotism, a horrible disease caused by a particular mold that grows on rye grain.  The symptoms may be hallucinations, epileptic fits, and other unpleasant and generally socially unacceptable behaviors. What struck me is that a place of healing and meditation was set aside for people afflicted with ergotism here in Colmar, while in the U.S. historians theorize that many of the people accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trials may have in fact been suffering from ergotism.  The contrast of the way that two different societies reacted to a human ailment is one of the most fascinating pieces about travel and learning the history of different places in my eyes.  Enough social commentary, how about some more wine?  Joyce was ready for a nap but Greg and I wanted to take advantage of the free wine tasting offered at our B and B, after all it is owned by wine makers.  We tried three different Gewürztraminers, a Riesling, and a Muscat.  Some of the wines were sweet but what struck me the most is that they make dry varieties of wines that Greg and I typically think of as sweet, like the Muscat.  The amazing thing about all of their wines was the aromas.  They all had scents of mineral and spice that were very clear to me.  The winemaker presented information on the soil and the grapes in perfect English and was very eager to teach us all about his wine. After the tasting, I realized I had hit my limit, too much wine, too much food, too much travel.  A long nap was in order, I was hoping that when I woke up I would be ready to brave another meal but alas my appetite had left me.  I would never be hungry again!  I committed the cardinal sin at a French restaurant, I ordered a green salad and mineral water.  While our waiter did berate and tease me all night, he was playful and good natured about it.  He spoke some English and with the help of gestures, tastings, and help from the other patrons (again this was a small restaurant and other guests were willing to shout out English words when his vocabulary failed him) Joyce and Greg managed to order.  Joyce had a creamy scalloped potato dish with cheese melted by a torch!  Of course she was scolded by the waiter for asking for it without ham, my mostly vegetarian mom has pushed her limits on consuming salty meats.  Greg had the pan seared salmon with house made sauerkraut (another local Alsace specialty, due to their proximity to the German border).  By dessert time, I was able to be convinced to split a sweet with Joyce. We had strawberries atop a bed of pastry cream on filo shingles, a pleasantly light finale to the meal.  Greg was going all out and ordered the plate of four tiny desserts; a chocolate lava cake, a crème brulee, a custard with raspberry sauce, and chocolate cup filled with a chilled vanilla cream, all accompanied by a glass of rose cremante (a local sparkling wine).  The waiter teasingly sang happy birthday to Greg as he brought it out and we laughed and explained Greg indeed had recently had a birthday.  Our waiter seemed very pleased with himself, we then managed to have a conversation about where we were from.  “Oh Californie!  Hollywood!” was the excited response and then he mimed asking Joyce for an autograph.  With fond au revoirs we ended our evening and went back to the B and B along the rainy streets of Colmar to pack for Gay Paris!

Thursday, 7/4

A quick early morning breakfast of coffee, croissants and jam fueled us for another travel day.  We opted to call a cab, knowing we would need our energy when we arrived in Paris. In retrospect, it was a very good call. We had a relatively quiet and comfortable train ride from Colmar which left at 10:00 am to Paris arriving just after 1pm.  A granola bar kept our energy up for the metro maze that followed.  Greg had actually preplanned two stops on the orange line from the train station then a switch to the brown, two more stops and we would be only minutes from our hotel. The metros were packed!  People were crammed in like sheep, we managed to wedge ourselves in and held on for dear life.  Scam artists were everywhere but we’ve had a sharp eye.  Mom nearly stopped to talk to an elderly woman who seemed lost until her radar kicked in.  A cute little boy ran up to both Mom and I crying, “Mama!” but we were not his mama, and then the usual slew of sketchy looking fellows and pan handlers approached at every turn.  As we went to board the brown line, the metro on the opposite rail had stopped within the tunnel, they were taking all the passengers off and officers were sending all of us out of the tunnel.  With a quick recalculation we figured how to get close but not as close to our hotel in four stops on the purple line and two on the yellow, with a lot of walking through the underground stations.  Cursing everyone who ever told her that she just had to visit Paris, Joyce was dealing with her backpack pain by writing imaginary e-mails to vent her frustrations.  But soon we were at our hotel, unloading the heavy bags, breathing deeply and drinking water,  and we realized we needed more fuel. 

Once Joyce had some excellent food and wine, she was seeing the virtues of Paris, but she was still not thrilled to get back on the metro though we assured her it would be easier without her backpack strapped on.  Luckily, we had found a little café just three doors down from our hotel called the Queen Anne’s tea house, not very French sounding, but they served excellent quiche and salad.  We had a delicate butter lettuce salad with  a Dijon vinaigrette and a slice of gorgonzola artichoke quiche and a zucchini, feta and olive quiche to share. We gave in and shared the chocolate caramel butter tart with sea salt and a shortbread crust. Lunch was absolutely delicious and we got to see a handsome well-dressed man walking down the middle of our street filming a TV commercial.  Paris was suddenly redeemed in Joyce’s eyes and the thought of angry e-mails vanished.  We headed back to our rooms to clean up a bit from our travels and then to see if my traveling companions were up for a big walk before dinner.  We walked passed Les Halles to the Louvre where we posed for photos by the entrance and peaked at a few statues in the common areas, no time to go in, onto the gardens.  We followed the path through gardens and past pools and fountains surrounded by folks relaxing in lawn chairs, then down Champs-Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe.  We hopped on the metro and though it was still not mom’s favorite form of transportation, it was easier to negotiate the crowds without the giant backpacks making us turtle-like.  We searched out a path to the Eiffel tower were Joyce called Grandma to say hello. We had plans to scale the tower tomorrow, so for now we were satisfied with a quick look as we crossed the park. We were headed for dinner near the Rue Cler neighborhood. I had heard about a small creative and modern restaurant called FL (like the F. L. tower, say it out loud and with a French accent,  “F L” “Ei-ffel” yes, we finally got it).  While the name was clever, the chef was in fact a culinary genius.  Not only was each entrée plated with style and aesthetics, but the flavors danced and swayed in harmony. Joyce and I ordered the pout (a white fish, honestly I thought they had misspelled trout, but apparently not).  The fish was gently poached and rolled in a breadcrumb mixture served with white and green asparagus in the most decadent limoncello sauce you can imagine. Greg had the grilled halibut with lobster and a small portion of pan-seared foie gras.  It was beautifully plated and though Greg had never tried foie gras before he said it reminded him of uni in texture (that is sea urchin, for those of you unfamiliar with the sushi menu).  The food was very good but it was completely overshadowed by the astounding desserts. I ordered a jar of creamy chewy perfection in the form of rice pudding which was punctuated by a salted caramel swirl and the slight chill of the caramel ice cream with just a tiny crunch of toffee popcorn.  This was truly the most amazing taste and texture sensation of my life.  I will learn how to make this dessert when I get home or die trying! Joyce ordered the chocolat in three textures, including some sort of chocolate slab cake with chocolate mousse, lemon thyme, and decadant olive oil. Greg had the giant profiterole (a big round pastry puff) filled with vanilla ice cream and a warm and boozy chocolate sauce poured over the top at the last minute.  With a shot of espresso to insure our alertness we headed back toward the tower.  During the night time hours the tower is illuminated with a glow of yellow-orange lighting and for about five minutes at the top of each hour, the strobe lights begin to flash, making it sparkle against the night sky.  It stays open until midnight and it was just about 11:00 pm.  After Joyce realized all the metro stops we had to endure to get to this neighborhood she didn’t want to have to climb the tower tomorrow morning as planned, “let’s just do it tonight.”  Joyce was actually volunteering to climb stairs and there were quite a few!  She stopped every few landings to catch her breath and observed with pride that she was the only 60 something person attempting the stairs at this late hour.  When we made it to the first floor, she opted to walk around and view the city from above rather than attempt the stairs to the second level.  Greg and I zipped up to floor two and took a lap.  It was really cool to see the city at night.  During our decent, the whole tower flashed again with strobe lights, which though slightly disorienting, was cool to be a part of because everyone in the park cheers and it makes you feel like they are encouraging you on your climb down on shaky and tired legs.  We agreed that Mom had earned a taxi back to the hotel if she could manage to find one.  It’s not like in New York where they are everywhere, a block from the tower the streets were only dotted with a few people and cars.  But Lucky Joyce only had to walk about a block before we saw a taxi drop off his fare and head our way.  With a flick of her wrist and a pointed index finger in the air, she pulled a Carrie Bradshaw move and hailed that cab like she did it every day of her life!  He pulled over and waited for us to cross the street and hop in the back seat to give him our hotel’s address.  In the quiet comfort of the cab, we were home in minutes putting our feet up after a long day of hoofing it around this busy and beautiful city.

Friday, 7/5

All of us were very tired today. Hmmm, I wonder if it that could have something to do with walking all around Paris in the afternoon and climbing the Eiffel Tower at midnight? When it took Greg and I until almost 10:00 to get ready we figured that Joyce had taken herself out for coffee already, but when we called her room she was still getting ready, she had also slept late.  We found a bakery where we could get coffee and pastry.  Joyce had a custardy almond croissant that looked delicious but Greg and I were disappointed by our dry chocolate croissant and bland brioche.  We ordered the café au lait, which is basically warm milk with a drop of coffee.  Not strong enough for my tastes any more, perhaps tomorrow we’ll try the cappuccino and a different bakery.  Anyhow, slightly fueled we headed off down the market street. Flower carts, fruit and vegetable stands, and meat, cheese, and chocolate shops lined this pedestrian only street.  Wonderful people-watching here, and a nice way to see how Parisians shop for their daily meals at home.

For the afternoon adventure, we set off to visit Notre Dame.  Along the way we saw the Hotel de Ville, Paris’ city hall.  There was a display of really cool urban gardens out front with seating areas made of wooden pallets.

We walked along the river and through the cute shops on the Isle de France doing some souvenir shopping.  Sadly, lunch was another disappointing crepe and an omelet.  All the places, I had researched in this area were closed for lunch and only open at dinner so we ended up at a random café. In hindsight, I think it is important to have the occasional subpar meal, so that when you get a good one it really stands out.  Notre Dame stood out in its gothic grandeur, breathtaking, the air inside heavy with incense and spirituality.  We were lucky enough to be visiting during another Mass service, giving the atmosphere a reverent feel even though the halls were still packed with tourists.  Since lunch was so light we thought we deserved an ice cream on this hot day in the big city.  Joyce an indulged in the caramel au beurre salé and Greg had the coffee and chocolate.  Back to the room for a rest and to make dinner plans.  

It was tough to find a restaurant in our area that met our standards and wasn’t booked on Friday night but finally we found a small place which served dinner in a wine cave less than a five minute walk from our hotel.  It was called Vin, Pain, Fromage and that is just what they served.  We ordered the fondue and dipped potatoes and bread into the most delicious blend of cheeses and apple brandy you can imagine.  We balance this out with a green salad.  We walked around our neighborhood seeing if there was any nightlife to be had and realized we had some of the most hopping gay bars and clubs only blocks from our hotel.  It was fun to see tons of handsome Parisians all dressed up for a night out.  Throbbing techno music poured into the streets from numerous clubs flying rainbow banners and teaming well styled dancing fellows. I felt very comfortable and safe taking my evening stroll in this accepting and open neighborhood.  Having had our evening walk to digest some of that glorious cheese, we headed back to pack our bags as tomorrow we fly home!

Saturday 7/6

We wandered the streets in search of coffee and pastry for a quick breakfast to fuel us as we packed.  Strangely at 8:30 on Saturday morning the beautiful patisserie we had passed on a walk yesterday which is just around the corner from our hotel was closed. Though the sign said it opened at 7:00 am.  In fact most cafes and bakeries were closed. Finally we found a corner café that was open.  After a very bland cappuccino and a marginal pastry, we were feeling ready head home and looking forward to drinking strong coffee in our pajamas in the comfort of our living room.  Good food is not easy to find in Paris.  I guess it is partially the stereotype that Paris is a haven for foodies and famous for cooking schools and fancy chefs.  But the random café on the corner can be pretty crappy.  We were lucky to have found a nice tea house for lunch with great quiche, salad, and desserts.  We had one outstanding dinner which was gourmet in every way, but most other meals here have been average to disappointing.  Talking with the lady at the front desk of our hotel, she shared that most Parisians were beginning their summer holiday yesterday and were heading out of town, that’s why so many of the bakeries were closed this morning.  Perhaps the bakers and head chefs are on vacation, that might explain why our taste buds haven’t been rejoicing at every turn.  Or perhaps we have just gotten really spoiled on our culinary journey!  Either way we’ll go back to the quiche place for lunch to avoid further disappointment, if it is open! 

Our plan for the morning was to finish packing and then head to the George Pompidou Center for Modern Art.  While the first floor we explored was very modern and unfamiliar (pitch black rooms showing strange movies, lawn furniture, and sandbags that somehow can be deemed art), we were happy to arrive on the second floor where Picasso, Chagall, and my personal favorite, Matisse were featured.  Greg asked me what it is I like about Matisse’s work and I think I muttered something about the bold colors and impressionistic shapes that are easy to interpret.  Really it is just that Matisse was an early favorite of mine in art appreciation classes.  I liked that he was doing something different.  He wasn’t afraid to be sloppy with his forms and let the emotion ooze through, giving his audience the faith to interpret his work.  I like being trusted by the artist. After visiting our final museum, we had time for one more lovely lunch and we wanted it to be a good one, so we returned to the tea house next to our hotel, all the better location to retrieve our bags from the luggage room when it was time for our taxi.  We noshed on more delicious quiche, mostly the same varieties as before but Greg did try the chevre (goat cheese) and fig, which was delightful and creamy. We decided to finish our meal with a simple slice of cheese cake, as we hadn’t tried any on this trip yet.  It was baked to a golden brown on the outside and creamy vanilla lusciousness within.   Before we knew it, we had to grab our backpacks one last time and meet our cab at the hotel entrance to journey to the airport.  We had a very helpful French woman check us in at the Air France kiosk, and with two and a half hours until boarding our flight all that was left to do was to wait and reflect on our trip. 

Yes, the theme of the trip continued, “You just have to wait...” to stand in line, to board the plane, to taxi and take off, and then about twelve more hours chasing the sun through the stratosphere (at least we had in-flight entertainment this time, that helped!), before you have to wait for the pick-up car, then wait on the freeway until you finally are delivered back safely to home-sweet-home.  What did all of this waiting teach us?  Of course to be patient, but more than that to appreciate the moment, to observe those around us, to be present and enjoy every step of the journey.   Now that the trip is over,  I am glad to reflect, to look at photos and reminisce but I am grateful for this moment as well, to rest in my comfortable home, feet up, no more stairs, enjoying the memories of a trip well planned and well executed.  Until next time, what will the next trip be? The next number of days?  You’ll just have to wait and see but I’ll tell you this, our plans are already in the making.

  

Saturday, 6/29

This morning we had to wake early and pack our bags.  We were sad to be leaving Cretaiole, but our adventure must continue.  With one more peek at mama cat and her tiny kittens and a final photo opportunity and hugs and kisses from Luciano, we said our goodbyes.  Luciano hugged me so tight, I thought he might crack a rib.  He really didn’t want to let us go.  He joked with Greg if he stayed to play guitar for the weekend he wouldn’t pay him, but he wouldn’t have to pay to stay.  All joking aside, we were off to Florence to return the car and catch a train to Milan. 

What can I say about driving in Florence?  There are many descriptive phrases I could use, but not in the company of my polite audience.  Sufficed to say, thank god Greg was driving.  One-way streets, Zona Traffico Limitato, and crazy drivers make it a very stressful place to navigate, let alone be the one behind the wheel.  Joyce and I thank Greg for being brave enough, patient enough, and apt enough of a driver to take it on!  When the car was safely returned, we strapped on our bags and hoofed it back to the station.  Plenty early for our train, we snacked on Panini and croissants we grabbed in Pienza before departing this morning.  Our train arrived on the track we expected and we got nearly two hours to watch the scenery pass by, catch up on reading, writing, and checking our upcoming travel plans.  Upon arriving in Milan we enjoyed the archaic looking  station and the contrast of the gay pride parade happening in the square outside the station.  We smiled to see rainbow flags and gentlemen with bright pink hair in electric blue fishnet dresses, we were back in the big city and the diversity we had missed in the countryside greeted us in Milan.  Our hotel was an easy five minute walk from the station.  Spartan but clean, our small rooms were up four flights of stairs unless you felt like braving the closet like elevator. (I did not!)  While our rooms were sufficient in size and cleanliness, the décor was rather outdated.  Not that it mattered, as we chose this hotel for its affordability and proximity to the train station for our early train to Switzerland tomorrow.  We stowed our bags in our rooms and took the Metro to see the Duomo.  After making Joyce climb about a million stairs to get to the surface streets from the underground, I thought she was about ready to punch me in the nose until she was confronted with the outstanding sight of the cathedral.  She was truly in awe. The detailed carvings and grandeur of its size took her breath away.  We entered to view the amazing arched ceilings and colorful stained glass windows.  Luckily we arrived during evening mass, so Greg got to hear the acoustics of the space.  As we left the Duomo we were getting hungry, so Greg and I retraced our footsteps from two years ago and found la Rinascente, a shopping mall topped with restaurants on the top floor.  The patio on the 7^th floor houses Obika, a mozzarella bar.  We sat on the roof  with a view of the Duomo and got a closer look at the chiseled gargoyles and tiny adornments that make the building so spectacular.  Our dinner was also amazing. We had the fried mozzarella with tempura style sage leaves, a caponata de aubergine  (a sweet and spicy eggplant stew) with buratta (a creamy and soupy cheese), grilled artichokes with smoked mozzarella, and a pizza with three kinds of cheese, tomatoes and basil.   It was delicious!  To top off our final dinner in Italy, we had espresso that came with a tiny vanilla ice cream bonbon dipped in chocolate on the side.  We also sampled two mini desserts; one tiny shot glass sized tiramsu and the other a limoncello soaked pastry in a vanilla cream sauce.  It was a superb meal.  After dinner, we toured Joyce through the Galleria and made her spin on the bull’s balls.  We peeked in at the expensive stores and ristorantes on this shopping boulevard. Then we saw the opera house, la Scala, and all the impeccably dressed theater goers making their way to the Saturday night show.  Stopping along the side walk in an ancient market place.  We showed Joyce the whispering wall, a corridor of arches that throws your voice so that it sounds like a friend 50 yards away is whispering in your ear, very helpful in old-time scams.

   

Though it was totally unnecessary we forced ourselves to have on last gelato at Grom on our last night in Italy.  Joyce had a fudgy chocolate fondant,  I went for the traditional pistachio and hazelnut,  Greg tried the Grom special cream with cookie bits and coffee. Ridiculously full and sleepy we wandered home via the Metro, crossed paths with some vagrants at the station who were having a wild night, and made it safely back to our hotel. It turns out our beds did leave something to be desired. While I laid awake tossing and turning, I thought to compare them to cardboard, but Joyce thought cardboard would have more give to it so she gave them more a brick like description.  The sheets were scratchy and rough.  We missed our comfortable memory foam mattresses and fabric softened sheet in Cretaiole.  Either way the lack of comfort in our Milanese hotel got us excited about our posh hotel in Switzerland, so we’ll be glad to board our train tomorrow morning and say a fond farewell to Italy and a warm Guten tag to Switzerland.

Sunday, 6/30

Early to rise and eager to be on our way, we wished Greg a happy birthday!  As with most of Greg’s birthdays, he is glad to celebrate with a travel day.  He would be excited when we cross the border and his first second language, German, is spoken.  But first we had to get out of Italy and standing in our way today was a slight train delay.  We were seated and ready to roll in our first compartment of the trip, when a ruckus erupted in the train hallway. It was hard to tell what exactly was happening because the argument was in Italian.  A well-dressed man repeatedly threatened to call the police and attempted to hold onto a young woman by the wrist, it seemed she had attempted to take his ticket.  She cried and whined melodramatically and insisted she would call the police herself but as she faked the call he insisted angrily that he was going to call them and his friend left the train to get help.  At this point, she lifted up her shirt to show him what she proclaimed was a pregnant belly but we are not sure if she was really with child or just bloated.  In the process of lifting her shirt, Joyce swears she exposed her breasts to him as well, but all I saw was a black bra.  By this point Greg had gone to get help, but the thieving woman continued her show, she pretended to faint and convulse.  She fluttered her eyes like she was having a fit; she was not a good actress. She made half-hearted retching noises and the man who had gotten robbed by her at which point I think he was so grossed out and exhausted by the ordeal he released her and she left the train.  Then finally the police showed up.  They had missed the whole show but apparently had caught her off the train and brought the gentlemen back to the platform to identify her.  What an education Joyce is getting on this trip!  

Once we were rolling we had beautiful view of Lake Como and before you knew it we saw our first Swiss flag. Lake Lugano came next and then a wonderland of glorious views.  Alone in our compartment as the Milanese trio who shared it with us got off at Lugano, we pointed out sight after sight to one another.  “Another waterfall!” we proclaimed. “Another steeple,” we declared.  “More pine trees,” we announced. “Alpine cottages,” we muttered.  There were too many glorious sights to report them all, so we just stared in blissful state out the window. As our train clung to cliff walls and soared over bridges with infinite valleys below, we praised the  Swiss engineering that took us safely through this pristine but precarious mountain scape.

When we arrived in Lucerne, we headed to the tourist information office to find out what to do about exchanging Euro for CHF (Swiss francs) and how to use the bus to get to our hotel.  We were issued three all-day passes for the bus and an explanation that we could pay in Euro most places but they would give us change in CHF and they won’t take euro coins, only bills.  Full of knowledge we boarded the bus across from the train station in the direction of Meggen and ten short stops later, we saw the sign for our hotel and hopped off with our baggage. A quick exchange at the front desk and we had the key for Joyce’s room, it would be a few more minutes before our room was ready, so we decided to drop the baggage in her room and plan our next step.  All planning was derailed when she opened the door to her room and her jaw dropped. The entire wall of her room facing the lake was an unobstructed window with a pristine view of the Lake which was only a lawn’s breadth away.  We all stood and stared in awe.  We knew this was our splurge, we were spending a bit more per night than we would normally feel comfortable with because it was Greg’s birthday and though we had seen internet photos of the rooms, obviously they didn’t do them justice.  The room itself was sleek and white with an open floor plan,  padded chairs and a table sat on an area rug near the window, serving as your balcony, as the windows slid open and a glass partition that was waist high acted as your railing.  Then the huge indulgent white bed complete with down comforter was in the center of the room.  A giant immaculate bath tub and double sinks opened into the bathroom area and the toilet was the only area that had a door that closed, the only modesty permitted in the European design,  so if you wished you could have stood in your doorless shower stall and looked out at the lake view, if you didn’t mind all the crew members of the sailboats and ferries staring back in at you.  Those of us who wished our bodies to remain anonymous could simply close the curtains.  Greg and I were pleased to discover that we had a carbon copy of Joyce’s room and view, just next door.  We were hungry after traveling all day, so we ordered up some snacks from room service and opened a bottle of wine we’ve toted with us from Tuscany and sat at Joyce’s table to enjoy the view with our late lunch of smoked salmon with horseradish sour cream, arugula salad, bread and alpine cheeses.  After cleaning up a bit, we took the bus back into town to explore Lucerne.  We crossed the chapel bridge and walked along the river.  We did some window shopping but we noticed that most of the shops were closed and the city was a bit of a ghost town.  Later, at dinner, our waiter would explain that only tourists go out on Sunday nights, the locals have dinner at home so it can be a very quiet evening.  We ended up in a restaurant called Stern for dinner.  I had researched places that have local and organic produce and this one seemed to have a nice blend of tradition with modern flair.  They served their salads in tiny glass jars, almost like ball jars but they don’t have a screw on top, the lid just sits on top (I think they are called Weck jars).  A beautiful multicolored heirloom tomato salad and a potato salad with mustard vinaigrette were served with the local pike that Greg and I ordered.  Joyce had a warm vegetable salad with beets, turnips, and carrots along with her cheese croquettes.  Our desserts a traditional tiramisu and a coffee parfait also came in the tiny glass jars.  Full and sleepy we took the bus back to the hotel where Joyce bought Greg a birthday White Russian at the hotel bar.  Instead of serving it on the rocks in a short cocktail glass, like we are used to in the states, it was shaken and served, deconstructed with the cream floating on top of the vodka and Kahlua, in a martini glass.  Delicious and stylish!

A magical week in Tuscany

Monday, 6/24

Today was a day of learning. This morning we met Carlotta at San Gregorio Farm.  From the barn, I heard and energetic Luciano calling out to my husband, “Buongiorno Gregorio!” as he stepped into his overalls to do some sort of “lavoro”(work).

We walked into Pienza for a brief history of the city and its surrounding areas. Carlotta talked of the formation of the valley from the rough crete (clay like soil) to the plowed fields and molded hills we see today.  It looks so natural it is hard to believe that the land was so shaped and manicured by man. Past the little church and down a hill at the side of town we toured the Romatorio. This property is owned by Carlo but it is an ancient site, so he can only maintain it. It is the remains of a hermitage, where monks would choose to live in solitude and pray, carved into the rocks are tombs and religious sculptures.  On the way back into town we got to hike through a lovely field with herbs growing wild and butterflies galore. We ate lunch at the La Buca di Enea in Pienza. Joyce had a big salad and they aren’t kidding when they say big, it had an entire 8 oz. ball of mozzarella on top of it! I had ravioli and Greg the mushroom tagliatelli.  Limoncello followed, gratis, as we were friends of Isabella.   

Another learning experience was our tour of the Fattoria del Colle winery.  Here we got to learn the history of this winery operated solely by women, a rarity in patriarchal Italy. We sampled the Brunello, one of the most famous wines in this region, a very bold and hearty wine.  Greg and I had visited this winery two years ago and were glad to see that Bonella, our sommelier, was still employed at the winery.  She was really impressed that Greg remembered talking to her about her love of the band, the Foo Fighters and showed us a tattoo on her ankle with the emblem of the band.  Aside from being an all-women run winery, they seem to employ bright young women who are both dynamic and hip. 

Our final lesson for the day was back at Cretaiole with Carlo.  Carlo is a professional oil taster from the province of Siena.  With Carlotta translating, Carlo explained the defects an oil can have, how to buy the best oil, how to read labels on olive oil and how to hone your personal taste in oil. We found that Ligurian oil, by the sea side, is milder while oil from this region tastes of fresh cut grass with bright spicy notes.  From the comfort and safety of the common room, whose benches and tables are surrounded by glass windows, we had watched the clouds roll in during our lesson, the weather was taking a very sudden turn for the worse.    Still a bit sore from running 5 kilometers up and down hills yesterday and with a storm brewing on the horizon.  I decide to just jog up to the next farmhouse over, about  a mile, I estimated.  Both mom and Greg warned me that it could pour at any moment and I shouldn’t go too far.  Indeed the charcoal grey clouds that gathered in the distance did seem ominous but there were some patches of blue still poking through in the east.  As I topped the hill, I was greeted by an immense and beautiful rainbow, a delightful site.  But as I approached the farm house, I saw the largest most distinct lightning strike I’ve ever seen.  I froze in my footsteps for a moment but ventured a bit closer to my destination.  A few seconds later and ear splitting clap of thunder forced me to turn tail and run home at a quicker pace. I even cut through the olive grove to get back faster.  Still the rain didn’t fall, but I found Greg and mom huddled together in the common room anxiously awaiting my return.  Luciano joined us and we talked about the weather (I learned the word for lightening is “fulmini”) and he gave us some eggs he had brought from his farm.  Our Italian was particularly slow and labored during our afternoon chat, so he pulled up a bench and said with a sigh (in Italian, of course), “I’m going to sit down while you think!”  He has a good sense of humor and is very patient with our language barrier.  We were still full from our lunch so a light dinner followed.  We sliced the apricots from our fruit basket and stuffed them with some of Luciano’s pecorino cheese.  Sprinkled the fruit with pepper, olive oil and red wine vinegar and a light sprinkling of fresh thyme.  The perfect appetizer I think, though I know the Italians would disagree, as we are learning fruit is only for dessert! 

Tonight, all the guests gathered in the common room around 10:00 pm awaiting the arrival of Luciano.  Greg was excited to find another guitarist among the guests so they could trade off with the musical entertainment, each sharing their favorite songs and expanding their repertoire in the process.  Luciano arrived with vino bianchi, vin santo, and grappa, as well as a giant plum crostata made by his wife Lilliana. We enjoyed the music, many guests sang along, Luciano and I had another dance and we retired back to our rooms around 1:00 in the morning.

Tuesday, 6/25

We slept late after the festa from last night.  The weather had cleared, though white billowy clouds were still strewn through the blue skies, rain no longer threatened.  I urged my travel companions to visit the hot springs with me today.  I have been fighting a cold since we began our trip last week and though I am mostly better, I am still prone to coughing fits at night.  I’ve read that the hot springs at Bagno Fillipi are supposed to help cure respiratory illness, skin problems, and basically whatever ails you.  After another beautiful drive through tiny towns and viewing the cypress lined lanes that lead to the villas, we were parking near a forested area.  A short hike down the hill landed us at the milky and sulfury waters of Bagno Fillipi, also known as Fasso Biancho or the White Whale due to the lime stone deposits dripping over the hill side in a hump-backed fashion.  We slipped off our street clothes and, clad in our bathing suits, we waded into the bubbling mineral waters.  Though occasionally stinky, the water did seem to have curative effects.  As we emerged, our skin was smooth and we felt relaxed.  Back on the farm, we showered to wash away the rotten egg smell and after cooking up some rottelli in a tomato basil sauce, another nap was in order. 

In the afternoon, we had a culture class with Carlotta where she talked a bit about the hand gestures that accompany Italian conversation and the order of dining courses in Italian culture, but mostly expressed her personal opinions about being Italian.  This was very interesting. We really appreciated her candor and individuality.  We felt like we got an inside view on politics from a passionate and intelligent woman.

I got Greg and Joyce to go along with me on my run today.  Okay, well they walked together along the path to the abandoned farm house, as I ran to the duck pond, but we all had a nice bit of exercise.  We have been doing so well with our food budget here because it seems we are still full from Rome and we still have many groceries in our kitchen and veggies from the garden.  Tonight we enjoyed some marinated summer squash in a sauce of olive oil and balsamic vinegar with shaved pecorino and bread crumbs with fresh basil.  Tomorrow Joyce and I have early morning plans, but Greg may sleep in.

Wednesday, 6/26

Today mom and I met our guide at 6:30 am. Yup, that’s right we signed up for the sunrise hike. One of the reasons for the hike being early is that they like to beat the heat, but it has been very mild weather and even cloudy at times, but none the less we started with the sun.  This is the perfect time to hear the sounds of the farm awakening, with the multitude of chirping and tweeting birds, the crowing of the rooster, and the occasional dog bark.  We found porcupine quills and beautiful vistas on our nearly 5 mile hike. I think some of the uphill stints may have been more than mom had bargained for.  Our seventy-something guide categorized the hike as easy, and though he’s had a hip replacement and is a cancer survivor, he kept a swift pace.  When we returned to the farm house around 9:30, we had breakfast and I took today’s first nap. 

We cruised into the hills for our light lunch and a cheese tasting. We had a charming farmer with Sardinian roots as our guide.  He gave us a comical but educational tour of the cheese making equipment and of course the highlight was our tasting.  For our “light lunch” there was bread, salad, salami and prosciutto, eight kinds of cheese (and three types of ricotta, which we learned is not a cheese at all as it is made from the whey).  We especially enjoyed the cheeses that were aged in hay and saffron.  

Upon or return, another nap was in order and I dreamt about being served slippery fish which were sliding all over and off of the dinner table, as we would be attending a special fish dinner in Pienza.  The owner of the ristorante visits the fishmonger on Wednesday morning and purchases fish based on how many reservations she has.  It was pouring rain as we headed into Pienza, so Greg dropped us off at the edge of town as he went to park.  Joyce and I wandered the streets of the historic center looking for ristorante Dal Falco with our jackets over our heads in a downpour.  Before we knew it Greg had joined us and we were no closer to finding the restaurant.  When we finally found it we were soaked and it was just on the opposite side of the street from where he had let us off.  Feeling foolish and wet, we tromped into the fine establishment leaving puddles as we went but were relieved when we saw our fellow Cretaioleans, a friendly family from North Carolina, at the reserved table.  They assured us though we were wet, we were among friends.  Soon wine warmed our bellies and conversation flowed.  We were delighted as the appetizers appeared.  We had about seven small offerings on our plates, a hot scallop in the shell with buttery bread crumbs, a saucy salad of crab, potato salad with octopus, crostini with peas and squid (to be honest I can’t remember all the creative antipasto that was plated before us)... On to the pasta, prima piata, first course.   We had spaghetti with clams and mussels and an amazing crab risotto.  Then the secondi, shrimp and calamri fritto (fried) and a broiled white fish with beautifully sautéed potato slices.  A light lemon sorbet ended our meal and by the time we had our café the rain let up so that we could walk back to our car and drive back to the farm house in peace.  A knock on the door told Greg that Luciano would be waiting in the common room.  Grappa is always a good way to help digest a rich meal of so many courses, and though Joyce and I opted to crawl into warm and dry pajamas, Greg joined a small group of ‘the guys’ for sip of this spirit and some quiet conversation before bed time.

Thursday, 6/27

We slept in late, as we had no activities scheduled for the morning.  We decided to drive to the nearby town of Montepulciano for an impromptu wine tasting and to do some window shopping.  We enjoyed picking out trinkets in the quaint shops of this hill town and tried their famous vino nobile at an enoteca.  The views of the surrounding valley from this hill town were breathtaking.  After grabbing a few panini to go, we were on our way back to Cretaiole to prepare for the Pici dinner.  I decided to bring a salad prepared from ingredients in Luciano’s vegetable patch to donate to the pasta dinner.  On my way out to the vegetable patch, I got sidetracked when Jenna, a preteen guest heralding from North Carolina, chirped that she was going to grab some water for one of the farmyard cats.  Mama cat was in the process of delivering kittens!  I’ve seen my fair share of biology videos, but I had never seen a live birth of any type.  I set down my vegetable picking basket and spotted  mama cat, who we had affectionately been calling “Preggo” all week. She was hunkered down in a raised flower planter in the blaring sun, panting and contracting her little kitty tummy.  One tiny kitten was already trying to nurse and another was on the way.  In fact, we watched mama kitty deliver a total of four kittens!  Jenna stood blocking the sun for mama, so she wouldn’t be to hot and other young girls gathered with their mothers and fathers to watch the event. When the girls were concerned as one of the kitties seemed to be slipping behind the planter, Greg came to the rescue, scooping up the slimy creature and placing her on mama’s belly.  Those of you who know about Greg’s dislike for messes might be surprised, but Greg got the nickname, Dr. Greg for the rest of the day.  

Amidst all this excitement, preparations for the Pici dinner were taking place.  Pici, pronounced like peachy, is a type of pasta that is traditional in this area, it is like a chubby version of spaghetti.  Isabella returned to the farm today,  just in time to teach us how to make this traditional dish, along with the help of Carlotta.  First the dough was mixed, simply water, flour, and eggs, with just a touch of olive oil.  The dough has to be massaged and shaped into a ball.  Then the pasta strands get rolled out by hand.  The process takes many hands and lots of patience from our teachers.  When the pasta is finished, Isabella takes it away to boil it.  The dinner begins with ample wine and Carlo passing around crostini grilled over a wood fire and rubbed with garlic and olive oil.  Our homemade pasta is the first course, with a ragu for meat eaters and pesto for the vegetarians.  Next the salads come out, Luciano can’t stand to see anyone eating pasta with their salad, this is not the traditional Tuscan order, so the pasta plates are cleared before the bean salad, green salads and more circulate around the long tables.  Then comes the pork ribs, steaks and sausages Carlo has cooked over the wood fire.  The table is cleared yet again, then Luciano circulates with the pecorino and fruit and dessert is brought out.  Finally after dinner drinks such as Vin Santo and Grappa make the rounds.  Greg takes this as his cue to grab the guitar from the corner and again the evening ends with singing and celebration.

Friday, 6/28

Our last full day at Cretaiole, we slept in a bit but did go into Pienza in the morning to shop and visit the Maria church.  Beautiful gold leaf and hand carved confessionals adorn the interior.  It’s vast open space and stone arches create amazing acoustics and Greg hums out a few notes to show off the non-visual qualities of the architecture.  Our lunch plans for the day consisted of visiting and organic farm for a vegetarian lunch.  As we drove the back roads to Podere Il Casale we found storm clouds gathering again.  When we arrived on the farm our car was chased by two very friendly, small and nimble donkeys.  We also saw peacocks, cats, pigs, sheep, dogs, chickens, and goats. As we approached the main house we saw Sandra, who we remember from our visit two years ago, rushing into the house with table cloths and place settings. “We will be moving lunch inside,” she announced and not a moment too soon, the sky erupted with thunder and lightning.  Just as we ducked into the dining area, a torrent of rain began to fall.  Safely warm and dry inside we enjoyed watching the hail and rain bathe the farm as a parade of delicious food was brought out to us.  A green salad, tomatoes with feta, ricotta  (made that morning), goat cheese with peppercorns, asparagus in a cream sauce, spelt salad and bread, steamed chard and potatoes, sautéed onion and cabbage, a frittata, and of course fresh pasta in a spicy tomato sauce with capers.  We were in vegetable lovers heaven!  Then came the cheese course, four types of cheese made from the raw milk of the animals at the farm; a fresh sheep’s cheese, a semi aged, a drunken cheese (aged in fermented grapes), and a semi-aged goat cheese, all served with a chestnut honey.  Finally, a piece of chestnut cake and espresso.  As we finished our plates, the sky dried up and we made it back to our car dry and happy.  

On our way back to the farm we followed the signs to the cimitario.  Luciano had teased that if we ever came back for another vacation and he wasn’t there, we could visit him in the cemetery.  Not funny, Luciano!  But it did get us curious about what the cemetery just outside of Pienza was like.  It truly is a beautiful place, through stone archways the plots are planted with flowering plants of all types and smiling pictures of the inhabitants grace each headstone. The mausoleums have rolling library ladders attached so that guests can climb the steps to their loved one’s niche and deposit fresh flowers regularly.  It seemed a charming spot to spend eternity.  Back on the farm, I convinced Greg to join me on my final jog.  We went 3 km past the empty villa to the currently vacant duck pond.  We did flush out two pheasants from the tall fox tails during our run, which pleased me as it seemed to symbolize that I was side by side with my mate, just like the pheasants who we frightened into flight.  We arranged to meet with Carlo and pay our bill, so we could depart early in the morning.  As with any encounter with the Moricianni family it was a pleasant exchange during which Greg got a lesson on counting in Italian and we discussed upcoming birthdays.  Greg will turn 37 in a few days and Carlo is turning 46 this year. 

Our dinner consisted of marinated eggplant from the garden and the rest of our pantry pasta tossed in truffle oil with some ricotta cheese we purchased during our cheese tasting the other day.  We’ve eaten almost all the generous groceries that stocked our apartment with the exception of some breakfast items that we’ll finish off in the morning and some cookies and apples.  I decided to make our leftovers into a dolce we could share with our friends at our last evening festa.  I peeled and cooked the apples with a little sugar, honey, and cinnamon and placed this apple pie filling in a bowl surrounded with cookies and a dollup of ricotta.  I call it no-bake Italian style apple pie.   Luciano also brought a peach focaccia that Lilliana had baked.  The deserts worked well together and both were enjoyed during our final night of music with friends.  It was an early night though, as everyone had to prepare to move on to our next destinations in the morning.  

Saturday, 6/22

Early to rise this morning, as we had to pack, grab one last cappuccino, and hop on the Metro to the train station.  Heavy backpacks strapped on, we made it to the train station with plenty of time to spare.  It took some figuring out which platform our train would be arriving on, but we managed to get Joyce on her first European train and were on our way to Florence by 9:00 am.  On the ride, Greg overheard a tour guide making reservations to see the David.  Oops, we had not even considered needing a reservation for a museum! I guess we should have reviewed our Rick Steves’ section on Florence more carefully. Greg, being the resourceful and friendly fellow he is, engaged the woman in a chat and within moments she was back on the phone to her connection offering to get us a reservation as well.  As we departed the train, she gave us a number on a slip of paper, a reservation to get in the Accademia at 2:30. Another kind surprise from a stranger on our travels!  We stashed our luggage at the baggage room in the train station before heading out into the streets of Florence. Initially we hoped to get lunch at a stand in the Mercato Centrale as soon as we arrived, but Greg was concerned since we needed to pick up our rental car and he had heard sometimes they close at odd hours.  Thank goodness we went there first, as they close by lunch time on Saturday and are not open on Sunday, we could have been stuck in Florence for two nights.  While Florence is a city full of history, art, and culture; our hearts were set on the countryside and our big city experience in Rome had pleased but exhausted us all.  A few hours in Florence to see the big sites is all that we needed.  We checked out the Mercato Centrale, a big indoor produce, fish, and meat market in a warehouse.  I found it fascinating to see but the strong smells drove us back to the city streets quickly. We grabbed a cheap and uninspiring lunch at a touristy trattoria.  Just some salad and bruschetta, enough to fuel us for our museum tour. (Viewing food as fuel, is very un-Italian but as a tourist sometimes it is necessary!)    

We got some mixed directions about how to get to the Accademia but ended up in the right line just at 2:30. After waiting only about five minutes to go inside, we felt amazed that the number written on the little scrap of paper was actually sufficient to get us inside. Of course we still had to pay the admission, but what a delight to skip waiting in line for hours!  I am much more adept at describing food than art but I will say that David’s figure was impressive!  We felt rather voyeuristic surveying his naked form, but after all this was the main reason for our side trip to Florence. Pondering the detail, the scale, the skill and the effort involved in sculpting such a piece, the patrons were in awe. Joyce described David as a hunk.  We took our time to see the other sculptures and paintings in the museum, getting the full experience for our ticket price but still this only took about thirty minutes.  On the walk back to the car we saw the cathedral and a few other churches. We grabbed our bags from the station and headed for the rental car. Greg faced a rather tricky drive out of Florence (the signs can be very confusing, even with GPS attempting to guide you).  With written directions on the computer and the GPS giving us contrasting directions, we also found it easy to get turned around in the small towns on the road to Pienza, but we made it! 

All of our wrong turns and travel woes were erased when we turned off the highway toward Cretaiole.  When we pulled into the drive at Cretaiole we were excited to meet Carlotta who generously showed us to our rooms. (Carlotta is taking the place of our hostess Isabella this week.  Poor Isabella is in Milan as her father has passed away, so her friend Carlotta is hosting us in her stead). Carlotta gave us a quick tour, knowing we have been here before and left us to explore our digs  Greg and I have a spacious bedroom and bathroom that attach to a living area with a full kitchen which is also connected to Joyce’s comfortable room and bath. The Tuscan farm house décor is evident in every detail from the rustic wooden doors with an iron latch,  to the antique furniture. The generosity and hospitality of the Moricciani family is evident at our first glance around the room.  There is a full bowl of fresh fruit; peaches, apricots, bananas, apples, and cherries. On our table a bottle of the owner’s house wine and olive oil for our use.  The fridge was full of milk, yogurt, juice, and sparkling water.  There was also a basket of pasta, cereal, cookies, and snacks.  We will need to eat many breakfasts, lunches and dinners in our room to work through all of this generously provided food, which will be great for our budget and a nice break from the rich food we’ve been consuming.  But that is not all, more treasures were stashed around the house. A chocolate and a mint sat on each of our pillows to wish us sweet dreams.  A flower floated coyly in our toilet bowl to greet us as well. We felt immediately nurtured and at home.  Outside of the farm house are the most beautiful views I have ever seen and I don’t say that lightly, I have had the opportunity to visit many beautiful places.  We are on top of a hill looking down on a valley of rolling green hills and sprawling golden fields.  A vineyard and olive grove stretch away from us on the west side of the lawn, while forest like brush sweep up the hill on all other sides.  For me it was a joy to be in a familiar spot where I felt safe and comfortable enough to run again.  Over the last two years running has become an important part of my health and stress management.  I began to run a few years back when I had a particularly challenging student.  I would come home frustrated and vent to Greg about the way this child had tested me and one day in particular Greg suggested wisely that maybe going on a little run around the block might help me blow off so steam.  He had no idea what he was starting!  (He rarely does...)  That year, I started by taking a lap, perhaps running around the track a few times at the School of Theology in neighborhood behind our home just once or twice a week.  Currently, I run four to five days per week, about two to three miles each time I run.  No more than ten miles a week in total.  It is not much, but I’m hooked.  I feel really wonderful, calm, and healthy after a run.  So I had really missed jogging while in Rome.  Not only was it delightful to stretch my legs, but I had this amazingly beautiful view to contemplate. After 3 km, I had seen an abandoned farm house, a pheasant, and a duck pond and was ready for dinner. We made a large salad from the garden patch to pair with our pasta and sauce and enjoyed our first meal on the farm. I forgot to mention that when we arrived, Luciano, the patriarch of the family had been there with Carlotta. When Greg and I visited two years ago, he had been one of our favorite parts of Cretaiole.  It took him a minute, but Luciano remembered us and it was like old times.  Luciano speaks only Italian, so it gives us some practice to speak with him.  After dinner, it is tradition to meet with him and the other guests in the common room.  He brings out his grappa (a strong spirit distilled from grape parts left over from the wine making process) and shares an after dinner drink with the guests and helps us to practice our Italian.  Tonight Greg played some guitar for the guests and Luciano explained to me that he likes to dance but because he is an old man, we have to invite him. (At least that is what I think he said, my Italian is still warming up.)  I asked him to dance and no sooner had we finished the first turn, he told me he would like to dance with my mother also.  So Joyce had her turn as well.  Dancing and music, not bad nightlife for living on a farm!

Sunday, 6/23

Today, all of the guests were invited to visit Luciano’s home. While the family owns Cretaiole, the Agriturismo where we are staying, they live on a working farm at the edge of Pienza called San Gregorio (Yes, Greg loves that this farm shares his name).  On our tour of the farm, we got to see where the geese and chickens live.  Luciano was proud to bring out some ducklings for the young people on our tour to play with and he was excited to show them the egg from which they had hatched just a few days ago. The pigs squealed, the turkeys gobbled, as we enjoyed the vista from the edge of the barnyard.  The Moricciani family farm produces aged pecorino cheeses, salami, prosciutto, amazing olive oil, and of course a few varieties of wine.  We were treated to a tasting of their olio on fresh country bread.  Luciano sliced up his prosciutto and salami for guests to sample and the fragrant sheep’s cheese was served up with plenty of red and white wine to sample.  We certainly didn’t need to plan a lunch after this lovely taste test. We bought some farm products to add to the groceries in our room. After a brief siesta,  we drove to the nearby town of San Quirico d’Orcia.  The historic center of this town is a medieval walled city.  We walked the quiet cobbled streets and enjoyed watching the locals socializing during their pre-dinner walk.  A quaint hedge garden framed a statue of someone important to the city but we couldn’t understand the plaque as it was in Italian! 

After exploring the neighboring town it was time to head back to the farm house.  

When it came time for my evening run,  I wanted to venture a little further down the dirt road today.  I set my iPod for 5 km. Up the hill, I passed the abandoned neighboring farmhouse. Down the hill, there was the little duck pond full of croaking frogs and splashing fowl.  Another steep drop off was just ahead, it looked amazingly fun to run down it but knowing I would be struggling back up the hill a few minutes later made the decision to plow ahead a tough one.  I plunged down the hill with the wind at my back delighted by more vistas of rolling hills and golden plains as the grade leveled off.  I rounded the corner into more dense vegetation and a little forest grew up around me as I pushed on.  I hadn’t even seen this from the path above.  Around another corner in the darkening trees, I saw movement on the path, too small to be a deer, I struggled to name the animal before it plunged into the bushes and darted away from me.  “Volpe!” I called out.  How the name came to me in Italian before it did in English astounded me, but it took me another moment to process that I had seen a fox!  The forest opened up into another vista and it was time to turn back and face that hill, but the visit from signore Volpe made it all worth-while.  Back at the farm house, we cut tender zucchini from the garden into long slices and tossed them in with the thin pecorino tagliatelli we had purchased at the farm.  Dressing our veggies and pasta with just a hint of truffle oil and a sprinkle of basil from the trough in the courtyard, we had another simple and fresh Tuscan meal.  Sunday night must be family night, as Luciano did not visit for grappa tonight, but he said he would see us on Monday and we are sure he won’t disappoint.