RV adventure travel

Montepulciano Tuscany Wanderlust in Wonderland.

A train ride from Roma got us to the station in the town neighboring Montepulciano (our destination).

Montepulciano is a small, medieval town sitting on a mountain-top overlooking incredible views of the Tuscan valley below.

We meandered-about awhile looking for a way to get up the mountain. We even started to walk up that town’s hill for a bit until we realized that our One Ton Tomatoes (back-packs) would kill us.

Well we found the bus stop but being the “afternoon” (a kind of siesta time in Italy just not called “siesta”) every thing was closed. So there were no bus tickets to be had. We finally (after waiting) found the bus, paid a bit extra for our tickets from the driver and got a scenic tour all the way to Montepulciano. The great big bus was like a Japanese monster compared to the other tiny micro machines that made up the common Italian vehicle.The driver weaved through the tiny streets like a real pro, and delivered us to the main hotel in Montepulciano at the bottom of the town’s hill. We asked around for directions, consulted our guide books and read signs to find that the tourist office was at the top of the huge hill before us. We survived (whew!) the lengthy and exhausting walk up the hill (though the sites were nice) to find one of the most amazing views of the Tuscan land-scape and also to find a little sign at the address of the tourist office stating that it had moved (somewhere near the bottom of the hill we just walked up). We relax , take pictures , have a tiny picnic eating some of Wanderluster DC’s stock of junk food. and head back down to the tourist office to inquire about places to stay. We found the tourist office after the walk back down and went in to pick their brains for places to stay. A fellow back-packing couple were in the line ahead of us, and we listened as they told them and us that there were no rooms to be had in Montepulciano and we would have to catch a bus (the last one) to some neighboring town so that we maybe could rent some shabby hovel they knew of there, but we would have to hurry. I couldn’t help but to get mental images from Lewis Carol’s “Alice in Wonderland” “No Room! , No Room!” Shouts the Mad Hatter”. Now this information was from the “Official Tourist Office” ; So, we beat and tired Wanderlusters, who rarely trust anything “official” and are quite accustom to the ramblings of mad people, decide to ignore them. We easily pushed away momentary visions in our mind of 3 worn out backpackers camping in an alley-way with bottles of wine and sleep-sheet lingto, and we wander (just like Alice) about a block down a random street and effortlessly secure a very comfortable and affordable tripple with our choice of bath, view or whatnot. for the night. We wanted to catch the other back-packing couple who had been sent on the Mad Hatter’s (tourist office’s) goose chase, but we were moving too slow at that point as they had hustled to the bus stop as they had been instructed to by the hatter .. Throughout our stay in Montepulciano, we occasionally stopped by the “Official Tourist Office” or the Mad Hatter’s lair and constantly confirmed, as a kind of inside joke, that the travel office would almost always convey wrong information about everything. Now we 3 wondering idiots in wonderland had, without trying, developed a workable system for getting around, which was coming in a bit more handy in Montepulciano than it did in Roma. I had 3-4 years of Spanish in College about 8 years ago so I could read Italian for the most part (as it is similar on paper) but I would retreat to my Spanish if I tried to speak more than basic words which didn’t do me any good at all. That’s where Wanderluster Fred came in. He had spent a summer in Italy a few years back and had a fair use of the very basic spoken lingo. Where neither of us could communicate that’s where Wanderluster David came in . He would bumble up and say in plain-English “can I get that?” The way it worked out usually the three of us together could communicate with the locals.

Montepulciano was wine country, and we lovingly participated in the enjoyment of the fine local vintage with our various picnics in the parks, hill-sides, and restaurants of the beautiful little hill town.. The Let’s Go had recommended the Ristorante Cittino, and I just have to say YUM!. Truly a wonderment in this wonderland. Yes these were some of the best meals I had had during my entire trip to Italy. We had an excellent meal It was quite a deal too. After dinner we were enticed intoa cool clock in Montepulciano another little local cafe by a beautiful staff and yummy looking deserts. Quite yummy with wine and this gave us even more of that rejuvenating relaxation we Wanderlusters needed after our previous evenings at the heart of Roma’s night life. It was here that we were charmed by fine wines, cheese-cakes, and the relaxing demure of the town into staying another day in lieu of trying to get out on Easter Sunday. The inn (Albergho de Borgehise) at Montepulciano was relaxing. It wasn’t noisy at all ,as Roma was, and the innkeeper was very friendly conveying understanding, patience and comradery as we jokingly struggled with each other’s language. His English was much better than our Italian. So after the comfortable rest we three idiots were energized and ready to live up to our name. We had seen a flyer at one of the restaurants telling us that there was the annual horse race ( Corse de Camili) in the neighboring town (Aquaviva). Knowing there were no busses, we made a little sign with the word Aquaviva on it and set out trying to hitch to the horse races as there were no busses running on Easter Sunday. We walked for a while toward Aquaviva with our little sign, befriending all the neighborhood dogs as they barked at us from their fences on the way past the neighborhood homes. Well no one picked us up. And we weren’t about to walk 6km to a horse race we would be late for anyway. “On second thought lets not go to Aquaviva Tis a silly place”.So instead we opted for wine and food again at the Ristorante Cittino and then people watching at another well situated Montepulciano cafe. We hit the sack early that night to be fully recharged for our attack on Florence.

There is no main center of magic in Roma, though it is a land of many centers and much magic. Was magic echoed through the cobble-stone streets long trodden by people both great and simple? Yes!
Was it in the people, going out a their way to bridge the communication barriers with a smile, a guess, a friendly look of puzzlement or by taking a good shot at English in response to our really bad Italian.Yes!
Was the magic there with the sight of a beautiful woman at the base of a work of wonderment complimenting the beauty of a great Bernini fountain. Yes! The symbolic songs and soul-spent work of an army of great humans intertwined well with the city’s life and defiantly seemed to out-stand time, patiently waiting to send that un-witting traveling innocent’s soul through metamorphosis.

La Basilica di San Pietro (St Peters Basilica) and Vatican City are another great heart of Roma.

The spiritual winds in these places will knock you down. The images, photographs and books I have seen, being a product of the media age (and a student of the arts), now seem impotent nothings aside the amazing personal experience of these places. I know it will take some time for me to realize how much of an effect they really had on me.

Amid a hundred and one moments of bumbling through Roma’s alleys, gobbling up the grand city like a culture-starved hermit, a few grander discoveries stand-out within the pleasant experience. One miracle was there tucked away near the Piazza del Popolo it was The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo. It did not have the grandest outside facade.
It did not feature the loudest or most imposing imagery, but our bumbling brought us within this beautiful secret. Upon entrance the The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo showed you her unusual beauty, like the grand Vatican, walking within the church was a walk among the history of art. The Caravaggio canvases Conversion of St. Paul and The Crucifixion of St. Peter were prominently displayed, but in this church also was a kinder intimacy, a symbolic and spiritual welcome that I did not find in the even grander Churches of Roma.

Using our guide books as a vaguely considered map, It was really in the free-style bumbling, alley hoping spirit that we discovered the fabolous Fontana di Trevi (Trevi Fountain) . It jumped out at us as we turned that corner leaving us awe struck for a time. The low relief carvings that make up the huge fountain are a story-telling wonderment and the characters are active and powerful. Yes, Even the tourist have a symbolic culture in Roma, among these traditions is the 3 coins in the Trevi fountain tradition. Yes we had heard of this one… 3 coins in the fountain and we are guaranteed to return to Roma right? So we chuck our 3 coins in for the promise of return. Well, Its just like 3 North Georgia mountain guys not to read the directions. No you silly guys! (says our guide books we decided to read later), Its 1 coin in the fountain to return to Roma, 2 coins to return and fall in love and 3 coins to return, fall in love and GET MARRIED eeek!. Oh well we’ve done it now. The Trevi Fountain became a hang-out for us on several occasions. See it at night, with shared bottles of Tuscanwine, beautiful companions (or hostel hotties), and fine gelato or chocolates. WOW!

Many a poet have walked and loved in Roma, and our great place to stay , The Pensione Ottaviano seems to lend itself greatly to meeting beautiful and amazing people. The tales of romance manifest themselves along with the symbols of spirituality, love , passion and power (Ahhhh).

A whole lot of walking at some ghastly hour of the morning brought us to one of those famous hills of Roma rumored to have the grandest view over- St Peters and Roma.

A nice wooded area and trail below the main road on the hill-side lends itself to that beautiful privacy hand and hand roaming lovers adore. So let’s just say that “a loving touch” as the sun rises over Roma and St Peters Basilica is just the right thing to get a day going well. It is said that Nero’s Violin rang from one of these hills as Rome burned many a century ago and ya know it must have been the spot for the burning passion of many lovers dwelling in the great city.

Travel companions or the 3 idiots.

Paths to wisdom often begin with the “fools journey”. Well that was it, as we 3 bounding back-packers made our way through the alleys and streets of Roma. A few nights of sharing a fine glass of wine with international friends in places that have been bars longer than our home country has been a nation, seeing the symbolic product of imposing religions, beautiful inspirations, grand battles with history, technique and ideology, seeing the dead people of the past not set apart in some lost grave yard but instead being folks who remain a very real companion in daily life either symbolically or physically. The Vatican Grottos house the papal tombs, and bodies of the dead. The Capuchin friars have collected the bones of their monks to make an enlightening display that joins art and death. A sight to concretely verify that (YEE HAA!) we fools are a long way from home.

The “3 idiots marching song” is furnished as we arrive.

Yes, 2 musicians are playing a catchy little diddy on the train that we idiots quickly distort into the song “One Ton Tomato”. A great marching song to go along with heavy back-packs.

One Ton Tomato The Wanderlusters Back-Packer’s Marching Song)

• One Ton Tomato
• We gotta a one ton tomato
• One ton Tomato
• a One Ton Tomato.
• Ya can make lots of ketchup
• With a One ton Tomato
• and lots of good pasta
• with a one ton tomato.

(to get the full effect just add Italy, lots of Tuscan wine, a few blistered feet, and an over-loaded back-pack and of course make up more words as you go.)

Well what did the fools learn from the “fools journey”? This fool has discovered that he does not belong in America. So I have to work on becoming a good expatriated slacker and a member in good standing of The Expatriated Slackers Guild. I’ll just need to get the funds to hang out a while to find bits of work etc.
The Night Life
After arriving in Roma The night owls in us wanderlusters merged with the temporaly screwed-up biological clock of the three Georgia boys off the plane. So the first few nights were filled with all night partying, flirting, the cave wine barwalking, and wandering. We had met a friendly expatriated fellow named Derrick at the Pensione. Now Derrick was a fellow who had familiarized himself with the local flavors of night life; So, we 3 idiots found ourselves following Derrick’s directions and more so “mis-directions” to various night spots de geur. English Pubs? Yep! that was much of what we discovered with the drinkers world in Roma. Unlike the pubs in the States, the international flavors and the company of all of the traveling/expatriated slackers we had discovered made the evenings exciting and fun. We also found ourselves getting our peroni or vino and then partying in various piazzas. The Cave was a wine bar. Every night we seem to hear a different story about the spot. Yeah, Nero, Caesar and the lot supposedly all had some kind of connection to the place. Sort of like the 6 degrees of Roman wine bars (all bs of course, just added to the flavor of the spot). The vino was cheap and fine. Ahhh and like true night creatures we sipped this “blood of the city” with all of its fine Tuscan flavors. It was there we met Robi (the waiter at the cave), one of the finest examples of friendly Italian folk. I’m afraid Robi found us and “the expatriated slackers guild” (all of our friends) frequenting the joint for several nights.

Now how does one become a member of “ The Expatriated Slackers Guild “? We 3 idiots put our minds together and figured out the formula.

Steps to becoming a Expatriated Slacker Guild member:

1. QUIT! (yes complete with all the emotional flavor and finality of true bridge burning)
2. Burn bridges and ignore emotional connections
3. Get the hell out (get on the plane)

Yes, you could just go around the table interviewing the friends we had met at the Pensione.

1. I quit and came to Italy
2. I’m ‘between jobs.
3. I don’t have a job.
4. I quit my job, Dumped my boy-friend, and got on the plane“… etc.

Now being that the slacker culture is so alive in Roma (a major center of world-wide culture), that of course puts legitimacy into “slackerdom” and places us slackers among the cultural elite.

By Dale Norris

The Wanderlusting Cinder Boy and the Grand Ball of Firenze (Florence Italy)

Rested up with the wines and flavors of the Montepulciano wonderland we were all mentally prepared for our attack on Firenze.

So there we stood awaiting that faerie God Mother’s Magic that would get us from the small Tuscan hill town to Firenze on Easter Monday.

So with packs on the back we awaited that magical pumpkin chariot (The 10 O’clock bus.) to take us to the grand ball that was Firenze. Well, the Faerie God Mother arrived all right but there was no “zipidie bopidie boo” to her magic as the ten o’clock bus didn’t arrive till twelve on Easter Monday.
So our “gung-ho-ness excitement” degenerated quickly into bus-stop journal entries, reading, tale telling and loitering until the bus showed up.
The pumpkin chariot (bus trip) ride out of Montepulciano was quite a nice treat after the wait though. It was a much longer and more scenic route than the short hop we had taken before as we went from Montepulciano all the way to Chiusi station.
Before we had just hoped the bus from a station in a neighboring town to get to the hill town.

As we rode, Beautiful visions of the people, towns and country side would tell their passing stories, often setting off that wander luster’s desire to hop off the bus and find out more. But just like in the Cinderella story there was that looming dark-hour there in the back of my head (The hour I had to go home). So there was no time to dabble in these other lovely stories, but at that time I had but to hope toward the grand part I had reserved in the tale that was Firenze.

We awaited the faerie magic of transportation a little longer at the Chiusi station as we chatted with a lovely Danish Girl and her mom to pass the time. The train arrived an hour late and was packed. So we say, “so-long” to our Danish friends waving Bon Voyage as we switched into our “compete for the space on the train” mode. My pack was just right for sitting on, as the crowded train ride from Chiusi station to Firenze on Easter Monday had no seats available and I had found an “almost comfortable” spot in the car’s foyer, yet the train ride had not been even remotely relaxing. I was glad to have the junk food I hada shot of the four rivers fountain bought at Chiusi station, and was really happy to see the suburbs of Firenze after several hours of train travel.
I was off that train like a rabbit when it hit the stop.

Soon, as we walked toward the place we had picked out to stay, I could feel the city beneath my street hardened combat boots and that’s when my empathy clued me in on the fact that Firenze (the city itself) was ALIVE. It was as if I had, through that old fairy magic, become a symbiotic part of this lovely but still foreign living being.

Arriving on Easter Monday, we went to the Instituto Gould to find no officials there to rent us a space. We ran into Tracy, one of the Expatriated Slacker’s Guild from Roma. She let us in to use the pay phone as we called around for another place to stay. We found a triple in another section of town and went trekking off after some of that obligatory flirting. We freshened up, and then went on our Tango across Firenze.The Duomo in Florence Our nose for the amazing and our stomachs led us to one of those nano wonder’s of the world, a place called Amon, and we stuffed our face with these amazing Egyptian pita’s, and drank with some more of those Expatriated Slackers in some English pub.

The triple we had picked was nice and comfy, but the evil stepmother this evening was a horrible thing called “a midnight curfew”. But in the warn-out phase we were in after the day of travel, we didn’t mind that for just one night. We wake early to hustle over to secure our spot at the Instituto Gould a tidy big hostel full of backpackers great location for 20 bucks a night. wanderluster FN and DC shared a double while I rented a cheaper bunk in another part. The double room had a nice patio, and ironically (as if just for us) there was a wine shop just two doors down from the hostel and a deli not too far from that. We stock up on Orvieto Classico with plenty to share. While at the hostel, we had patio picnics some with the two girls in the room adjoining the patio with wines, black olives and sandwiches. We frequently visit the wine shop and form a kind of friendship/understanding with proprietor (I guess he likes selling wine by the case). We were taking the opportunity to enjoy these cheap wines that would cost quite a bit at home.) We frequently filled up our day packs with a bottle or two for later, and found ourselves taking breaks from the beautiful dance through the history of art and culture to sit on the steps of some great church of Firenze to have our wines, people watch and charm beautiful passers by or just interesting people into joining us.

Now with that framework in mind we took in the Borgello after saying no way to the huge line at the Uffizzi,the view from a Ufizzi window ahh beauty, ahh more beauty, ahh beauty juxtaposed aside beauty, Emmm look at beautiful her looking at beautiful that! Yep! Those were the emotions that were common for my heart when visiting the museums and churches of Firenze. The Borgello had its share of Donatello’s, Michelanglelo’s, and more and more. Appropriately stunned ,and at this point drunk only with beauty, we stagger out for another kind of cultural icon, Vivoli on Stinky Street!.
Yes Vivoli was not just any gellateria, according to wanderluster FN it was “THE Gellateria”, so yes, we then experienced what was indeed the best gelato ever.
Well I’m hyper now, after all that gelato, and we go to Duomo and flirt with some beautiful Spanish girls while waiting in line to climb Brunellesci’s dome. Now this dance was quite a work-out and had rhythms in it at which it became a slow dance. Yes things could get quite close and friendly to others on their way down as we squeezed by each other. It was fun and quite an experience. Wow at the views both inside and out.

We changed partners over to The Uffizzi and did a “wait in line” dance for about an hour. Of course running into people we knew from somewhere and, after a comment from wanderluster FN, “It’s a small World After All” was stuck in my musical head leaving me groaning for a few minutes until I was distracted by some street artist doing a live portrait of a beautiful young lady. Now the Uffizzi was one of the grandest dances in Firenze as Leonardo, Raphael, Botticelli,just more awesome beauty Michelangelo, and many more of the greatest Muses of all time were there.

Well “I’d like to thank the Academia” for it was there we found Michelangelo’s David,
Yes, you hear Hype, Hype and some more Hype about The David, but you will have no choice but to dismiss all that as this awesome sight dwarfs all hype and stuns your tail right there in public. Yes this dance has simple moves to it:

* 1. Walk down the amazing hall of Michelangelo’s slaves,
* 2. Stop, Awe,
* 3. Stop, Awe,
* 4. Stop, Awe
* 5. Stop, Awe (at each slave)
* 6. then (seeing The David)
* 7. open mouth,
* 8. stand still.

The Rain Dance:

Inspiration and that night owl nature was running amuck within us as we had a vino picnic at the Instituto Gould, and any deterrents from fun like that misty and rainy Firenze air we had that evening quickly faded away after a few shared bottles.
Out for some yummies (food that is) and then on to “well whereever”.
We came across some musicians who had taken over a porch at the Uffizzi And there, we befriended some boozing Belgians; young, passionate and babbling politics through that blurbing barrier of complete drunkenness. We felt right at home with that. We loiter jump around, drink and watch the local police guys screw around with the guys selling posters illegally just by walking by. Every time a uniformed police would walk by the poster guys would stash all their posters away, then get them out again when the police guy was gone. They were doing a performance-art comedy routine and didn’t even know it. This was one of the nights we almost turned into a pumpkin as we barely made Instituto’s 1:30 ish curfew.

The Pick Pocket Waltz:

Those ballroom waltz spins I learned can really come in handy when exiting the churches of Firenze. Yes, there was Santa Croce, another one of the myriads of beautiful, awe inspiring churches full of great works and the burial spot of several of “the greats” including Michelangelo. I was exiting this great place when we encountered what I came to call “the prop comics of Firenze”. A couple of gypsy women approach us. Now the gypsy pickpockets in Firenze all have some kind of prop (tightly wrapped babies, laundry bags, and newspapers etc). This was a common theme to all of them. Exiting Santa Croce I do a quick Viennese turn around the one with the laundry approaching me, spin around some more and then am confronted with one with a newspaper in my face. I issued an instant “go away” command in the Italian and a pushed right through the newspaper. All of my gear with the exception of a side pouch I kept a camera lens in was well protected. The lens pouch is what she went for. And amazingly managed to get the thing halfway open in that split second she confronted me.
Wow!, but she had encountered that tiny safety pin I had through the zipper of the thing, and went away with nothing Ha! Ha!. Now the jokes of these “Prop Comics” can be really cruel if your not prepared for them. Don’t let the joke be on you.

The Last Dance is a Slow One:

We take in more of the Duomo, and experience Ponte Vecchio.
Fred had described Ponte Vecchio, the shop filled bridge that crosses the river,Ponte Vecchio The Old Bridge in Firenze as a kind of market for cheap gold trinkets. Now I, being from the home of the first gold rush, which is all about touristy shops that sell cheap gold trinkets, did not feel that I would find anything of interest there, But we went. The shops aside, this place was neat especially for a thespian and lover of the Dionysian arts. Yes there were performance artists here and there doing their street shows on the bridge. The Beautiful costumes, music and dancing, turned out to be nothing like the tacky shops at my hometown. I loved it.

We were to return to Roma after our magnificent stay in Firenze. Much talk of living there came and went during the stay. Yet none of us would have the resources it would take to set up house keeping (not even the poor house).

One last jaunt by the Duomo and Vivoli, and then on to the train back to Roma for a day or two as that looming hour approached when we had to return home. And we, like Cinderella, left something behind in Firenze. No it wasn’t a shoe! Instead it was a kind a cultural innocence or naiveté of what the great works were really about, for none of our collegiate learning, readings or photo books had prepared us for the experience of a living city whose heart dwells in the beauty of the renaissance and also in the contemporary world of tomorrow’s art and inspiration. The last dance is a slow one and it still isn’t over, as the visions within this beautiful city shall have an intimate touch with me for some time to come.

By Dale J. Norris