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Last night I took advantage of the small kitchen that we have available to us and made dinner from local pasta with marinara sauce and local olives (that I had to pit!), and topped with regional cheese. I accompanied it with some freshly-baked Italian bread. The sauce was from a jar, but I worked on it a bit with some locally-produced wine. Turned out to be a pretty nice meal.

Last night was also when I learned what it’s like to be one of three sisters. The mother of our hostess, who you may recall had the moral objection to us that was remedied by us actually being “related,” apparently thinks we are all sisters now. I have no idea, and moreover I don’t want to know. She rattles off in Italian, expecting that the more and the faster she talks, the better I can understand a language that I only know a few words of and some basic concepts at best.

Tonight will be our last night at the vineyard; tomorrow we will be on our way to Florence to pick up our fourth traveling companion who is flying in to meet us for the latter half of our trip. She has even been nice enough to bring my Kindle charger along for the ride, so no more strange charging contortions. That is one example of when less is definitely NOT more–it’s less, and a huge inconvenience to boot.

She is flying out today, and we will meet her in the Florence airport tomorrow.

It was 19 degrees Celsius (66.2F) when I woke up this morning. Chilly!
I actually got to use the legs for my shorts today. Zipped them on this morning. Also, I got to wear my windbreaker. Not really important news.

Yesterday, it was a beautiful 22C (71.6F). It has pretty much stayed like that in the days that we have been here.

We trained to Siena today, then bused to Il Campo, which all buses go to, apparently, and isn’t really even a square at all. More like a bowed-out triangle-ish sort of thing. I’m sitting in the shadow of a giant bell tower drinking 200ml of pear juice and eating my tomato sandwich.

Someone just lit up next to me. If I wanted to smoke, I’d go buy a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a life-insurance policy.

Well, I went to throw away my refuse, and it turns out that Comune di Siena Municipal Police Regulation Title I Art. 5 states: “It is strictly forbidden to play running games or with balls, frisbees or other similar games. It is forbidden to lie down, to be dressed in swimwear or bare-chested, to leave litter on the ground, to eat sitting on the ground, or to chain vehicles to columns, railings and/or other fixed objects.”

While standing around an open Wi-Fi hotspot, I saw a guy in a Superman shirt ride up on a bike with a crate. He set the crate down, and parked the bike up an alley. Over the next 30 minutes, he transformed into a golden Roman soldier mime/statue. It was so neat to see the transformation from start to finish. When I finishes, on my way by, I dropped a €1 coin in his basket. The smile that came across his face transcended all language barriers, and was worth so much more.

I know it’s vacationous blasphemy, but I’ll be glad to be home. Italy is gorgeous, the food is great, and the people are nice. There are things that I miss… like, oh, unlimited data on my cell phone plan. I miss my own bed and shower. Oh well. All too soon my little sojourn will be over and it will be back to the daily grind.

We stopped at a little town before our stop and hiked the 2.7km one way to Monteriggioni, an old castle where they were having a medieval festival. The festival didn’t start for another 3.5 hours, so we walked on back, stopped by the grocery store to get some pesto sauce for tonight, and barely caught the 12-minute late train from a little stop that looks closed. Only one train runs through: the Siena/Empoli line, and there is one each direction every hour. They have two bells, and one rings depending on which direction the train is going.

It’s back to the room for pesto pasta and our last night in Tuscany.

Please, I’m begging you… don’t tell anybody about my tomato sandwich. Fines for violation range from €50 to €300.

Life Lessons:
1) You know you are in for a ride when the bus driver himself is holding on to the dashboard in turns.
2) The newer the train, the more zealous the ticket-checkers.

Today started early with the roosters crowing and the dogs barking.

We were determined to make it to the bus stop for the 6:52a bus. We arrived at the stop at 6:48a. No bus. After much stomping and gnashing of teeth, we decided to wait for the next bus, arriving at 7:32a. Around 7:36, we decided to start walking. About that time, the bus came around the corner and we had to run back to the stop. 

Now, we were told we could purchase biglietti (tickets) ON the bus. Turns out that’s not quite right. By “not quite right,” I actually mean patently false. 

Ticketing on public transportation in Italy works a bit differently from other places I have been. You can buy as many tickets as you want whenever you want, but you have to “validate” each one before you use it. This usually consists of shoving it in a yellow box in the train station or on the bus. Most of the time, the validator prints the date and time on the ticket. It is good for X amount of time after validation. 

Now, if you aren’t intimately familiar with this validation procedure and *gasp* forget to validate your ticket… and they check tickets, you can be fined many euro–usually €50-95. 

So you can HAVE a legitimate ticket, but unless it is validated, it doesn’t matter. 

The bus driver took mercy on us and gave (sold) us tickets that looked like they were about 5 years old, but remember: that doesn’t matter because they weren’t validated!

We finally got to the train station to get on our way to Pisa, and I selected (in Italian) where I wanted to go on the Biglietti machine, and stuck my money in. It then spat out two tickets, but not my €14,30 in change for the €5,70 ticket that I paid €20,00 for. 

I marched into the little shop next to the machine, and in broken English the clerk attempted to explain that I would have to wait until I got to Pisa for a refund. 

On the train to Pisa, after on stop we inexplicably started going backward in the same direction from whence we came. I reminded myself that we were in the hands of trained (TRAINed… get it?) professionals, and somehow we finally arrived at Pisa Centrale. 

We walked through the streets following signs to “Duomo Pisa.” I managed to find a little open AP named dlink that graciously accepted all of my pictures from yesterday and this morning. So, don’t thank me, thank dlink. 

The girls managed to snag €15 tickets to go up to the top of the fabulous engineering near-disaster that is the Leaning Tower. From what I hear, we are extremely lucky because the tower isn’t always open (maybe depending on which way the wind blows, tee hee), and when it is, they only allow up a certain number of people at a time. Our tickets are for 12:00, noon. I can’t take my small backpack up with me. I have to check it at Deposito Bagagli/Left Luggage.

While waiting for noon, the girls had roast beef sandwiches and I had my tomato sandwich with mayonnaise from a tube. Mmmmmm, tube ‘naise. It was slightly crushed in my backpack, but I just called it panini pressed. 

While waiting at the ol’ Deposito Bagagli, I found the following jewel: “Please, consider that the spiral staircase has about as many as 300 step.” Need I say more? Oh, Italiaglish!

Even though it cheapens the Italiaglish, I see what they meant by “as many as.” you could stop at any of three levels. But, as you can probably guess, I bolted straight for the top, barely passing go, and not even collecting my €142.86 (that’s $200, assuming a $1.40/€ exchange rate). 

Walking up the spiral staircases is like a really, really old, demented funhouse at the circus. You go round and round, tilting from side to side on slick and uneven stairs from all of the feet that previously have trodden upon them… and there is the whole “leaning” bit. 

The view from the top really is pretty magical if you don’t have issues with vertigo that would be triggered by the spiral staircase and exacerbated by the tilting. When I say the top, I mean the VERY top. No netting, barely any rail. Just you, an engineering near-miss, and lots of meters (metres?) down. The whole city, and it feels like the whole world is laid out at your feet. You can see the mountains, all of the little ant-people marching around in lines, and a whole civilization. Jarring you back to reality is the voice of a PisaGuard(tm) shouting up, “Come down now, please.” All too soon your little moment on top of the world is over.  

You can also give dlink your heartfelt appreciation for the pictures from the top of the tower. 

Now I get to stand in line to redeem my little Trenitalia IOU to get my hard-earned and probably badly-exchanged euros back into my sweaty little hands.

With that done, I took the liberty to try something I had wanted to for a while: the Lavazza Self Bar. It’s an automatic coffee-tron, and there are a lot of them sprinkled around train stations. You put in €0,50 for espresso, or €0,80 for the espresso-based beverage of your choice. Select the strength and go. It drops out a cup and stirrer and dispenses the product into said cup. I got a cappuccino with chocolate, 4/5 on the strength scale. Not hand-pressed with love by an Italian barista, but cheaper, and not too bad. I would love to see how that thing works.

We got on the train to Fiorenze, then transferred at Empoli to the Siena train. We will get off at Poggibonsi. This train is pretty new. It has all sorts of neat seating arrangements and all of the cars are connected. It’s quiet and cool, something not often found on Trenitalia. The ticket-checkers are also very zealous.

That’s about it for the day. We have traveled a pretty good bit today, so I think it’s going to be an early night. 

Life lessons:
1) The Gucci-Prada Act of 1972: buying or selling fake merchandise in Italy is an indictable offense punishable by a €big fine and death, as well as perpetual snubbing by the Ferragamo-wearing elite. 
2) No matter how afraid Today started early with the roosters crowing and the dogs barking.

We were determined to make it to the bus stop for the 6:52a bus. We arrived at the stop at 6:48a. No bus. After much stomping and gnashing of teeth, we decided to wait for the next bus, arriving at 7:32a. Around 7:36, we decided to start walking. About that time, the bus came around the corner and we had to run back to the stop. 

Now, we were told we could purchase biglietti (tickets) ON the bus. Turns out that’s not quite right. By “not quite right,” I actually mean patently false. 

Ticketing on public transportation in Italy works a bit differently from other places I have been. You can buy as many tickets as you want whenever you want, but you have to “validate” each one before you use it. This usually consists of shoving it in a yellow box in the train station or on the bus. Most of the time, the validator prints the date and time on the ticket. It is good for X amount of time after validation. 

Now, if you aren’t intimately familiar with this validation procedure and *gasp* forget to validate your ticket… and they check tickets, you can be fined many euro–usually €50-95. 

So you can HAVE a legitimate ticket, but unless it is validated, it doesn’t matter. 

The bus driver took mercy on us and gave (sold) us tickets that looked like they were about 5 years old, but remember: that doesn’t matter because they weren’t validated!

We finally got to the train station to get on our way to Pisa, and I selected (in Italian) where I wanted to go on the Biglietti machine, and stuck my money in. It then spat out two tickets, but not my €14,30 in change for the €5,70 ticket that I paid €20,00 for. 

I marched into the little shop next to the machine, and in broken English the clerk attempted to explain that I would have to wait until I got to Pisa for a refund. 

On the train to Pisa, after on stop we inexplicably started going backward in the same direction from whence we came. I reminded myself that we were in the hands of trained (TRAINed… get it?) professionals, and somehow we finally arrived at Pisa Centrale. 

We walked through the streets following signs to “Duomo Pisa.” I managed to find a little open AP named dlink that graciously accepted all of my pictures from yesterday and this morning. So, don’t thank me, thank dlink. 

The girls managed to snag €15 tickets to go up to the top of the fabulous engineering near-disaster that is the Leaning Tower. From what I hear, we are extremely lucky because the tower isn’t always open (maybe depending on which way the wind blows, tee hee), and when it is, they only allow up a certain number of people at a time. Our tickets are for 12:00, noon. I can’t take my small backpack up with me. I have to check it at Deposito Bagagli/Left Luggage.

While waiting for noon, the girls had roast beef sandwiches and I had my tomato sandwich with mayonnaise from a tube. Mmmmmm, tube ‘naise. It was slightly crushed in my backpack, but I just called it panini pressed. 

While waiting at the ol’ Deposito Bagagli, I found the following jewel: “Please, consider that the spiral staircase has about as many as 300 step.” Need I say more? Oh, Italiaglish!

Even though it cheapens the Italiaglish, I see what they meant by “as many as.” you could stop at any of three levels. But, as you can probably guess, I bolted straight for the top, barely passing go, and not even collecting my €142.86 (that’s $200, assuming a $1.40/€ exchange rate). 

Walking up the spiral staircases is like a really, really old, demented funhouse at the circus. You go round and round, tilting from side to side on slick and uneven stairs from all of the feet that previously have trodden upon them… and there is the whole “leaning” bit. 

The view from the top really is pretty magical if you don’t have issues with vertigo that would be triggered by the spiral staircase and exacerbated by the tilting. When I say the top, I mean the VERY top. No netting, barely any rail. Just you, an engineering near-miss, and lots of meters (metres?) down. The whole city, and it feels like the whole world is laid out at your feet. You can see the mountains, all of the little ant-people marching around in lines, and a whole civilization. Jarring you back to reality is the voice of a PisaGuard(tm) shouting up, “Come down now, please.” All too soon your little moment on top of the world is over.  

You can also give dlink your heartfelt appreciation for the pictures from the top of the tower. 

Now I get to stand in line to redeem my little Trenitalia IOU to get my hard-earned and probably badly-exchanged euros back into my sweaty little hands.

With that done, I took the liberty to try something I had wanted to for a while: the Lavazza Self Bar. It’s an automatic coffee-tron, and there are a lot of them sprinkled around train stations. You put in €0,50 for espresso, or €0,80 for the espresso-based beverage of your choice. Select the strength and go. It drops out a cup and stirrer and dispenses the product into said cup. I got a cappuccino with chocolate, 4/5 on the strength scale. Not hand-pressed with love by an Italian barista, but cheaper, and not too bad. I would love to see how that thing works.

We got on the train to Fiorenze, then transferred at Empoli to the Siena train. We will get off at Poggibonsi. This train is pretty new. It has all sorts of neat seating arrangements and all of the cars are connected. It’s quiet and cool, something not often found on Trenitalia. The ticket-checkers are also very zealous.

That’s about it for the day. We have traveled a pretty good bit today, so I think it’s going to be an early night. 

Life lessons:
1) The Gucci-Prada Act of 1972: buying or selling fake merchandise in Italy is an indictable offense punishable by a €big fine and death, as well as perpetual snubbing by the Ferragamo-wearing elite. 
2) No matter how afraid you are of plummeting to your imminent doom, if you paid €15 to climb the Leaning Tower, you darn well better go to the top. 
3) If you see something you want within reason, get it, because you may never be back to Italy or [insert country here] again. 
4) Sienamobilità. Running buses when we want with no regard to scheduling since whenever we started. are of plummeting to your imminent doom, if you paid €15 to climb the Leaning Tower, you darn well better go to the top. 
3) If you see something you want within reason, get it, because you may never be back to Italy or [insert country here] again. 
4) Sienamobilità. Running buses when we want with no regard to scheduling since whenever we started.

Note: I’m posting this over the cell network, but it is expensive, so I won’t be able to upload some pictures of the latter part of the day until I get to wireless again. 

Forgot to mention this yesterday:
When we hopped back on the train after getting off at the wrong stop, we boarded a different car. This one had a little man on it that decided he would start singing and talking to nobody in particular… badly and off-key.  

As we were leaving the car, we overheard two British guys talking to each other. One said, “Did he have a cup on him?” The other replied, “No, no, no, he didn’t.”

We are in the gorgeous and picturesque rolling hills of Tuscany for four nights. Last night was our first. Our little B&NB (bed and no breakfast) room is beautiful, and the weather is fabulous. All of my laundry that I did last night was perfectly dry by this morning. There is no air conditioning, but who needs it here?

We are at a little vineyard in the country. Like chickens in the back yard country. Which crow at 5:00a. Really. 

Last night an ambulance went rolling by with siren blaring. The fun part is that there are dogs around here. When an ambulanza goes by at midnight, all of the dogs start a-barking. After it has passed, other dogs hear the ones barking at the ambulance, and bark at them. So on and so forth… with open windows. You are in for a good 5-minute canine concerto. 

Speaking of the ambulanza and the medical system here, wow. Ambulances here have windows that open in the back because they aren’t air conditioned. One that I saw inside looked like some of the equipment hasn’t been updated since 1980ish. Paramedics/EMTs (or the people who work on the ambulances) routinely smoke in the trucks, and never seem to be in too much of a hurry.

One of Rome’s (admittedly self-billed) “premier” hospitals looked like it might as well have had a graveyard in the back, because you are about as likely to be killed by the building collapsing as the medicine practiced there. 

America’s health care is expensive, but, for the most part, it is top-notch. 

Moral of the story? Don’t have a heart attack in Italy.

We walked around San Gimignano today. It’s a medieval city that originally had 72 protective towers, 14 of which still stand. Now, it’s a well-oiled tourist trap. Not completely, but in its walls are a lot of shops, ristorantes, and gelaterias.

We are in olive and wine country. So, when I saw olive-topped pizza in San Gimignano, I had to give it a shot, because two of my favorite things are olives and pizza. I was third in line  Right in front of me the first person, some French $&@?, purchased BOTH of the two remaining slices. Irritated, I decided to go with cheese since there were four slices, even though I really wanted olive.

I contemplated laying for him in a doorway to get that pizza, but then, the next person in line bought ALL FOUR SLICES OF CHEESE.

Irritated, and ready to torch all things French, I stormed off muttering to myself that I want the calories of my choosing or no calories at all. After seeing those olives, nothing else would do. 

Lucky for the French, on my way out of the city, I saw another branch of the same pizzaria, and they had my olives. That slice of pie was absolutely delicious. I don’t know if it was the fight that made it so tasty, or if it was the ingredients. I didn’t care.

After the city, we walked to a little winery called Santa Croce. The gentleman there let us make taste of the wine. The girls tried the rosé, and I tried their red Chianti, which is fabulous in this region. It was an affirming experience to sit there, drinking a generous “taste” glass of wine while looking over the grapevines that produced it. It’s the picture with a few tables in the foreground. I bought some olive oil and got a free postcard out of the deal.  

We stopped by the supermercato on the way back to our room. I was picking up a bottle of Birra Peroni, when I overheard a small group of of people that sounded like they were from Britain talking. One guy said to the other, “That will be a lot of beer.” Before I could even open my mouth to remind him that there’s not such a thing as too much beer, the other guy sharply replied, “You can never have enough beer.”

Good to know some concepts are universal. 

Turns out that you can actually buy dress shirts in the coop grocery store here. I guess that’s what puts the “super” in the mercato. Of course, anything is better than the one Simone sent us to in Rome.

I tried Birra Moretti today, and I should have known I wouldn’t like it as much as Birra Peroni–it doesn’t have nearly the street following.

When we were walking up to our room, our landlady of sorts (who has the morally-objecting mother) raised the screen in her window and asked if we liked figs. After the girls replied in the affirmative, she handed us a plate full of huge figs. Massive figs. I took a picture, but haven’t been able to send it in yet. I’m not a huge fig fan, but these were delicious. 

I took a nap and now am finishing this post up. After, I’ll take a shower and get in bed early.

It’s going to be an early morning to catch the bus. We are heading to Pisa tomorrow. Maybe I’ll let the roosters be my alarm clock.               

Well, we have been gone for 9 days. Today is our tenth. Little things that I should or should not have done, or should have done differently are starting to become painfully obvious. 

Luckily, I seem to have done a pretty good job with my packing. But the aching pain of a few things, such as not being able to use my Kindle, has lead me to create four lists: things for my next trip that I should do differently or bring, things that I have used that I brought, things that I have brought but haven’t used, and possible considerations for my next trip. I know I’m supposed to do that at the end of every trip, but it always ends up not getting done.

I’m hoping with these four lists I’ll be able to cut unnecessary items out of my pack while at the same time swapping things that don’t work quite right with others that do, and preferably serve double-duty. 

Also, between these, the (few) items that I add will be pretty rigorously screened. I’m loath to add items, but there are a few things that surely would have been really nice to have, like a bandanna or a spork. They don’t take much room, but are well worth their weight. 

Some on the did not use (so far) list are necessary, and have to stay, like a windbreaker, and (hopefully) a first-aid kit. 

My biggest complaint to date isn’t even with having or not having equipment; it has been with pack organization. I love the backpack that I have. It’s an older-style L.L.Bean Bigelow, and my little daypack is a Bean Stowaway. 

The Bigelow is the perfect size for this, but the pockets are large, and I have found myself throwing stuff in them instead of packing properly. I already know the solution to this, bu didn’t have the time or experience to implement it before I left. Eagle Creek makes these little fabric “boxes” called packing cubes in different sizes and colors. They let you group items together, and make organization convenient. They also eliminate digging in your pack for what you are looking for. 

Before I left, though, I had no idea how I’d group my stuff, but now, after living out of my pack for 10 days, I have a pretty good idea. 

Live, travel, learn, and improve.

Please excuse me for a moment and humor me as I have a short rant. This has been building for years.  

I’m a vegetarian for a variety of reasons. I’m not an evangelizing vegetarian that tells people about why vegetarianism is positive (unless asked), and I’m not a militant vegetarian that is going to show you pictures of factory farms and animal cruelty.

My choice is my business, and your choice is your business. 

I’ve even gotten to the point that I am loath to discuss my lifestyle choice with others. Usually, it is because someone isn’t really interested in my views, but simply wants an easy target for a pointless argument.  

I’m elated to talk to someone who is legitimately interested, but it’s a waste of my time, effort, and patience to make the vegetarian case to a close-minded carnivore.

I have no problem if you choose to eat meat–but don’t force it on me, and don’t make fun of me because of my choice, or of my choice itself. My decision is multifaceted, and a lot of thought has gone into it. Today, though, I’m going to talk solely morality and ethics, because I see a huge problem. Not health, not convenience, not global environment.  

I believe strongly the phrase, “Above all, to thine own self be true.” With that in mind, I don’t see how people can “care about the fuzzy and furry animals” then turn right around and eat them. I guess it’s the whole out of sight, out of mind thing. Since we don’t have to go kill and chop up our own chicken/pig/cow/etc., it somehow doesn’t happen and is okay.

This, in a nutshell, is self-deception. 

People who cry about stepping on (and killing) an insect, then go get s burger amaze me. If the idea of killing anything doesn’t appeal to someone, how can he or she continue to be responsible for the death of animals and subsequently eat them? 

Advertisers and media are responsible in part, but the human mind is an amazing thing to be able to create and sustain that false perception.  

If you don’t agree, that’s fine. It’s your privilege. Just nod, smile, and say, “Okay, Branson.