I programmed the station into the TomTom and we even remembered to drive on the right hand side of the road (and by I, I mean Walter, I have not yet been brave enough to drive)
"Firenze, leetle town. No car. You take train A Dicomano statzione" the farmer told us.
But everything is so distracting.
You just have to stop.
We parked in a little side street to walk to the station, but the building we thought was the station is, in fact, an archaeological museum in the town square. With loads of people milling around, chatting to eac other. And flowers.
It's a little embarrassing to realize our powers of deduction had missed a simple fact - no railway lines running in or out of this hypothetical station.
We did find the station, eventually. It was completely deserted. Spying a ticket machine in the corner we headed over to it and tried our best to make it give us tickets. We pushed every button (including the help button) to no avail.
Eventually we walked back into town to ask someone. "I'll do all the driving if you do all the ordering and asking" said Walter, bless him.
Which brought us to a little cafe, where I ordered "duo capuccini Signora" from a super-model and asked "Inglese? - Touristi" at which stage she called Paolo to help us. Turns out you can buy the tickets (duo billetti A Firenzi, return s'il vous plais) with your coffee. Walter whispered to me that it was already 12, perhaps we should go tomorrow?
So we went for a drive up the road, found a gorgeous little trattoria with full-bloom wisteria draping the verandah and had lunch in Vicci.
One look at the menu told us 3 things:
1. We had no idea what anything meant
2. It was more up-market than us
3. My pigeon Fritalian would not help.
Remembering that I had done a deal regarding the driving, I consulted with the owner (very stylishly turned out)
Fortunately he could speak Inglese quite well. "We have decided to put ourselves in your hands, chef, it all looks so delicious we can't decide" I gave him my biggest, brightest smile. "Ah", he said "you don't understand the menu" and brought us wine (which, since I wasn't driving, I could drink)
We then had what was quite possibly the best food I've ever had anywhere. Walter, seeing Michelin guide stickers in the window, and a sign we had missed earlier announced authoritatively "This chap is one of those Michelin star chefs"
Which, if he isn't, he most certainly should be. It would also explain our initial, frosty reception when we arrived a little before opening without a booking.
By the time we left he had warmed to us considerably (I whispered to Walter that he was eating rabbit; quite possibly the Easter bunny himself. "what's the black stuff on top?" "Truffles")
We drove home much later for a quiet evening of reading by the fire, the clouds have lifted so we can see the snow on the mountains
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