10 Tips for driving in Italy

1. Rent an automatic. It's bad enough trying to figure out how to go the wrong way around the roundabout while your wife/husband hides under the dashboard without scrabbling for your window winder whilst searching for the gear lever.
2. The speed limit is apparently optional. This is nothing new if you're from South Africa, but don't blame me for any fines you may receive if you too adopt this approach.
3. If you come from a law-abiding nation and insist on driving within the limit the protocol appears to be: the driver behind will rush up to a position approximately 3cm behind you. Do NOT show fear under any circumstances. He/she will then drop back a little until its safe to pass. Don't be alarmed if this is on a curve, we didn't see (m)any mishaps arising from this approach.
4. Take a GPS and buy the map. Just spend the money, trust me on this. It's cheaper than the divorce attorney.
5. Buy extra insurance to cover your excess. Again, spend the money, the excess is around €1,000 and that will seriously curb your budget. All the cars are dented/scratched. Your rental will be too.
6. You can't drive in any of the old towns. You have to find parking and walk. Good luck figuring out the parking payment system. A good tip is to watch and see what the natives do (the when in Rome approach)
7. Petrol is called benzina (not gasolina, that's diesel and will cause major problems in a petrol car). If you almost run out and have to freewheel down a mountain and find yourself having to put in your own petrol, look for the machine next to the tanks. Put your life savings in (some take credit cards), press the number of the tank you're using and fill up your car.
8. After two and a half weeks we still haven't figured out the road signs. If you find yourself driving the wrong way up a one-way street and are stopped by the carabinieri open the window and ask "Parla Inglese?" Smile sweetly.
10. Even though all the garages on the highway have bars the Italians do not take drunk driving lightly. Don't do it. Your passenger/s, on the other hand, may drink as much as they like.
Take the opportunity to explore the narrow country lanes, there is some spectacular scenery off the beaten track.

The Italians are, on the whole, good drivers. Most South Africans will have no problems driving in Italy (especially when it comes to using the emergency lane so the speedsters can pass)




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The Pisa region

We went to Pisa (as one does) and then on to Lucca, a beautiful old walled town to the north west



Walter ignoring the leaning tower...



I almost got the angle right




Incredible artwork on the doors to the cathedral (free entrance on Sundays, amazingly beautiful inside; no cameras)

The tower was built to house the cathedral bells, is one of the 7 wonders of the world, 300-odd steps to the top. We didn't climb it.

When it was built (starting in 1173 but halted multiple times to try and figure out how to fix the lean) it was on the coast. The silting of the Arno river over the centuries means it is now 10kms inland!

You can comfortably see it in a few hours and the head off to Lucca with its narrow lanes (no cars allowed, park outside the town walls and walk)




Walter, on top of the wall.




Lucca, from the wall.



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Il Dottore and the Fritalian consultation

We've been in the Pisa region of Tuscany for the last week, at the Borgo San Carlo just outside Pomaia, Sante Luce



Where the lack of wi-fi led to me getting sinus and Walter having to put his foot down eventually and insist on my seeing a doctor. On his birthday, no less, the poor thing had to track one down via the receptionist.

The doctor has "rooms" in 2 villages, Pistana and Sante Luce itself. 2 hours per day per village.

It was an interesting exercise "Buonasera Signore, parla Inglese?" "Bocca" (this could mean anything from A little to Badly from what I've discovered)

I coughed and wheezed and pointed to my forehead and said "sinus"

After rattling off his life story to me (or maybe it was a disclaimer, who knows?) he listened to my chest (trying to get me to cough, eventually coughing himself since I wasn't understanding) all the while I'm telling him I get this often and it's just an upper respiratory tract infection. Anyway he clearly didn't understand my Fritalian but he eventually came to the same conclusion.

He wrote a script (asking for my passport, which gave me quite a turn, maybe I was wrong and he was reporting some new bird-flu to the authorities? Or needed to know where to send the body? But no, prescriptions here need addresses too)

I had almost no cash on me, he didn't have a credit card machine, but I managed to scrounge the €15 consultation fee together. In Pinglese he told me "Stay warm, frodo is bad" (hobbits? Bad? Ah! Cold - si)

The pharmacists here don't give advice at all, they merely dispense. Also, the price is imprinted on the box, but there's no indication of schedule or dosage. The contents are, however, written in Braille on the box, which seems like a very good idea indeed.

Anyway, 4 days later I'm almost in showroom condition again. That's what you get for joking your husband has man-flu, you have been warned.
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Note to self; check the train

We spent a lovely day in Florence yesterday, starting with a 2-hour queue to get into the Ufizzi gallery. Well worth it, I took my Kindle along so I could read in line.



The art is magnificent, although we particularly enjoyed the Foreign Artists' section, which includes Rubens, Rembrandt and others a Philistine such as I can't remember.

After making sure we saw Boticelli's Venus (there's a personal story involving the Prado and a wasted day in Madrid, but that's for another time) we decided it was all too overwhelming and headed for the Gallileo Museum around the corner. That there was no queue here is a tragedy, because this museum houses fabulous scientific equipment from Gallileo's time (and his right middle finger, like a relic, in a jar. Which I found quite reassuring)

I thought how both Scientist No 1 & Child No 2 would love this place, with their natural curiosity about all things scientific.

Talking of Scientist No 1, this picture of the Gucci HQ is just for her




It was getting late, and our legs were tired, so we headed back to the Stazzione Santa Maria Novella, found the platform for the next train to Borgo San Lorenzo and boarded.

I returned to my Kindle, giving Walter strict instructions to watch out for our stop - Dicomano. (Walter seems to have recovered from his gout and now has a fierce head cold, poor thing) His eyes watered, he sneezed and nodded.

Many stops later a conductor told us (in Pinglese) we were at the end of the line. I explained, in my best Fritalian, that we needed to get to Dicomano. Walter sneezed and looked tearful, which was a good thing. The young conductor took pity on us and, with hand gestures and Pinglese explained we would have to wait an hour before catching a train to Dicomano.

Eco. (this is the Italian version of eintlik, if you throw it in from time to time people think you have a good grasp of the language)

My panic at the thought of trying to buy a ticket from the machine almost overwhelmed me but I spied a bar and ordered due Amaretti, per favore signora and sans the bloody ice in this temperature, grazie.

I wandered outside to think, where I was seized upon by an old duck who started rattling off Italian to me. I looked at him and said "Mi tourista signor, non bloody comprende. Inglese" at which he switched to German and carried on regardless. From what I gathered he was a pilot who had crashed 100 kms from Rome "Mamma Mia!" injured both his shoulders (although he may have been crossing himself) his wife, currently in Hamburg, still flew. I looked at my empty glass, wondering if he was senile or if I was hallucinating. He looked around, grunted "Eco. Ciao" and disappeared around the corner.

Walter, who had been studying the timetable, came to ask me why there were 2 entries for the same train on different platforms, and who was the old man? I explained, checked the entries (1 for summer, 1 for winter) and confirmed the platform. His eyes watered some more, he sneezed, muttered about foreigners and went inside to get warm.

We finally made it back to Dicomano, and the trusty Fiat Panda and a dinner of steak, egg and chips (no salad for Walter).

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Location:Frazione Corella,Dicomano,Italy

Florence. Or not

We really meant to go to Florence yesterday, got up early (well, early is relative anyway) checked we had everything and hopped into our little Fiat Panda by 10.
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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Tuscany

How did I not know how beautiful the countryside is in Italy?
We travelled north on the A1, following the signs to Firenze, listening carefully to the TomTom's instructions.
If you're thinking of hiring a car here a GPS is not optional, the roads are just too confusing without one.

Even the one-stops make an effort



This cheerful little basket is on the office counter at the forecourt.

We bought lunch, I couldn't resist the caprese roll with real buffalo mozzarella and sweet tomatoes. At a one-stop. It's all so civilized.

Leaving the highway just past Valdarno we made our way along impossibly narrow, winding country lanes to our first home, I Nidi Di Belforte, near Corella




It has been unseasonably cold with snow still visible on the high peaks to the east, but the apartment has central heating and a fire place.

Having had little time or opportunity to stock up I made a simple dinner of baguettes, cheese and preserved meat (bought at the one-stop) We washed that down with a wonderful bottle of Rosso Di Montepulciano 2010



And settled in to read at the fire




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Location:Frazione Corella,Dicomano,Italy

Pasquale a Roma

Walter drinking Italian beer. It's really good, who knew?

I assumed there would be church bells, given that we aren't far from the Vatican. And it is Easter Sunday. But just the dawn chorus (with the odd tone-deaf crow joining in)

Today we need to catch multiple trains (tickets not on sale in stations, it's a mystery) to get back to the airport and pick up the rental car.

I bought a map of Italy for the TomTom. Heaven knows what she'll do this time, she freaks out if I switch her off in Durban and on in Cape Town, this might blow her mind-chip entirely.


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Location:Via Massimi,Rome,Italy

Johannesburg to Cairo

Cairo airport, yesterday

Easter falls on the first Sunday after the Equinox, following the full moon.
I awoke to a full moon shining on the wing, darkness covering the Sahara desert.
A little later I could make out the green ribbon of the Nile river 30,000 feet below us.
We followed the Nile into Cairo

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Location:Via Alfredo Serranti,Rome,Italy