Pictured: Podere Montagnano, courtesy of Gabriella Lo Debole

It’s a bit of an overstatement to describe the drive to Arezzo on the A1 (Autostrada) as leisurely . . . but it was a Sunday morning in late November so the drive was fairly easy.  I had to admit that my upgrade, a cross between a limo and a 747 jet, was quite comfortable.

Before meeting Gabriella, I checked into the Hotel Le Capanne in Arezzo.  I first stayed at Le Capanne when Gabriella worked at the hotel.  It is a carefully and beautifully restored country farmhouse only a few miles from the city of Arezzo.  After a quick coffee. . . grazie, Cristina . . . I was off to San Polo.

North of Arezzo, San Polo is a small village close to Gabriella and Marco’s farm, Podere Montagnano.  With her great directions in hand, I soon pulled into the small parking lot next to the town’s war memorial.  On the opposite corner was the church, Parrochia San Polo.  Olives trees covered the gentle south-facing slopes back toward the city. 

This seemed like a good time to explore all of the many buttons on the dash.  First try was the radio.  Suddenly, at full volume, Aretha Franklin was singing Natural Woman.  Home again in Tuscany, surrounded by ancient buildings and olive trees, I’m listening to my favorite Aretha song!  Although it was a bit surreal, I was having a moment.  Just as Aretha hit the last note of the song, I noticed a small grey car rounding the corner by the church.  Gabriella!  Waving, she called out “Annaaaaaa!”. 

Seeing the face of my cherished friend, I realized my error.  I was wrong about never having received an upgrade.  When I first arrived in Tuscany, more than a decade ago, I had received the ultimate upgrade  . . . a total life upgrade . . . complete with a renewal option and fully loaded.

I was living in Hawaii.  While riding on the bus from Waikiki to the mall, I heard a man loudly complaining to his friends.  He didn’t like the weather, the beaches, the hotel, the food or the local people.  He couldn’t understand why anyone would consider Hawaii a paradise.  They were all from Chicago.  Did I mention that it was December?  Freezing winter vs. embracing warmth.  I think he was missing the blessing.

With this story in mind, I put aside my concerns and stepped into the restaurant.  I was warmly greeted by Giuseppe, who immediately guided me away from the crowded dining rooms.  I was seated at a table for two next to the window.  Across the room, my only luncheon companions were several Florentine businessmen.  Moments later, Giuseppe returned to see if I needed help with the menu.   Although the menu was varied and included some good choices, I was in the mood for porcini mushrooms.  Without hesitation, Giuseppe suggested that he bring “something from the kitchen”. Absolutely!  Non posso stare meglio di cosi!  I can’t get better than this!

The tagliatelle ai funghi porcini followed by spinaci (with lemon, olive oil and a pinch of salt) was perfection. I was so happy by then that I celebrated with a cup of gelato al cioccolato.  Giuseppe and I had a lovely visit and he was kind enough to help me with my spelling as I scribbled notes in Italian.  I often returned to my window seat at Osteria dei Baroncelli.  On my last day in Florence, Giuseppe gave me an “arrivederci” hug as the staff waved goodbye from the dining room.

The energy that you bring to a destination is as important as the destination.  Grazie, Giuseppe.  Grazie, Osteria dei Baroncelli.  And grazie to the man from Chicago for teaching me not to block the blessings right in front of me. 

The following day I was off to explore Monteriggioni.  I wasn’t sure what or who I would find on that chilly March morning.  Monteriggioni, in the province of Siena, is described as the “quintessential walled medieval Tuscan village”.  It is best known for the nearly intact 10 meter high walls and 14 towers that surround the village and held up against repeated Florentine attacks centuries ago. While small, the visual impact of this walled village sitting atop a hill is impressive.  Most often, you have to park outside of the center of a Tuscan hilltown. The large parking lot was deserted.  As I walked thru the Porta Franca gate,
I could see that the Piazza Roma was empty.  Apparently, I was the only person crazy enough to be visiting on a cold grey day.  I wandered into the Romanesque Church of Santa Maria Assunta. . .always a must for me. . .then stopped into the alimentari (grocery store) to buy formaggio for Gabriella. 

There was no need to rush so I decided to stay for lunch at Ristorante Il Pozzo in the piazza.  Looking for people?  Follow the pasta!  A few of the village residents had gathered in the cozy restaurant per il pranzo (for lunch).  Il Pozzo is what I think of as “old school” Tuscan. . .wood-beamed ceilings, white table cloths, formal yet friendly service and classic Tuscan cooking.
I ordered one of my favorite pasta dishes, Pappardelle con Ragù di Cinghiale (pappardelle with wild boar sauce).  Made to perfection.  Era deliziosa! 

The clouds had darken by the end of lunch, so I thought I would start back before any more bad weather.  When I arrived in the parking lot, I found that my car had company!  There was a car parked on either side of mine.  Literally within inches of my car doors.  Mamma mia!  Parking Italian style!  There was no way to get between the cars although I did briefly consider crawling through the hatchback...but only briefly.  The parking lot was empty except for the three tightly packed “sardines” in front of me.  It was then that I noticed a group of men at the far edge of the parking lot loading a vespa onto a truckbed.  Using my best “damsel in distress” voice, I called to them for help, Potete aiutarmi, per favore?!

The men immediately abandoned their work and rushed to my aid.  Nothing better than a good problem to solve!  It certainly wasn’t the first time they had encountered a parking dilema.  There was much discussion.  A cellphone appeared, a call was made and within minutes a very slender young man came running toward us.  Reinforcements!  More discussion. Then to my amazement the natural contortionist, apparently without any bones in his body, managed to slip between the cars and slide into the front seat in one seamless motion.  I was rescued!  Hugs and congratulations all around!  My heroes stayed to make sure that I could actually drive the car, then shouted Arrivederci as I drove away.  For a moment, I felt as though I was in a scene from an old Italian movie!

Perhaps, somewhere in Italy, there is a town filled with cranky, impolite, unpleasant people. I have never found one.  Instead I have discovered enduring ingenuity, generosity of spirit and big Tuscan hearts.  Forza Toscana!

San Quirico d'Orcia is situated on a hill along the Via Franchigena, the ancient pilgrim route.  I didn’t know much about San Quirico.  It’s in an area of Tuscany which includes the more well-known and much visited towns of Montalcino, Pienza and Montepulciano.  The perimeter wall still protects the town center.  I passed through one of the four original gateways to have survived the centuries. 

As I approached Via Dante Alighieri, I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful Romanesque Church of the Collegiata (Collegiata dei Santi Quirico).
I entered through one of the three outstanding carved portals.  For the moment, I was alone in the church. . .my favorite way to discover Tuscan treasures.  Behind the altar were seven wonderful panels (by Sienese artist Antonio Barili). In a wing of the transept was a lovely 15^th century triptych of the Madonna and Saints (by Sano di Pietro).

I settled into a short pew at the back of the church to further enjoy the tranquil moment, when the heavy door behind me banged open.  A flood of what seemed like half of the town’s people began filling the church.  Sunday morning Mass!  Not wanting to rush out against the tide, I decided to stay.

Two older gentlemen had joined me. I suspect that I was actually in their pew.  I confess that I paid much more attention to my “pew buddies” than to Mass.  Their demeanor was pleasant though formal.  Both were immaculately groomed, trimmed moustaches, dress shirts, ties, sweater vests, creased fine Italian wool trousers and shined leather shoes.  I signori eleganti - the elegant gentlemen.  What a treat!  As Mass continued, I became aware of a fragrance.  Incense?  Fresh flowers?  More warm and earthy with lavender and wood. . .maybe just a splash of Pino Silvestre cologne?

At the end of Mass, I hoped that I could steal one more quick glimpse of i signori but I was surprised by a tangle of toddlers that came barreling down the aisle with several young mothers in pursuit!  They were all part of a large family that had just arrived for a christening.  In a moment i signori were gone.  No doubt they were off to un delizioso pranzo. . .a delicious lunch.

San Quirico is a “good things come in small packages” experience. The Church of San Francesco which houses a Madonna by Andrea della Robbia, the Horti Leonini garden all'italiana and the pure Romanesque simplicity of the tiny Church of Santa Maria dell'Assunta are all worth seeing.

And if you happen to catch sight of my signori eleganti on their way to un delizioso pranzo please say “buongiorno” for me!

Florence is a living museum of art and architecture.  Not to say that it isn’t a vital, contemporary city.   However, the Florentines live their lives surrounded by the most breathtaking works of art in the world. . .many housed in the
Galleria degli Uffizi.  The Uffizi collections include the best Florentine paintings of the 14^th and 15^th centuries as well as masterpieces from Venice, Siena and works from leading international artists.  Spending a few days at the Uffizi is an art-lovers dream.  I have often imagined how wonderful it would be to visit the Uffizi after hours. . .wandering through the rooms all night in the company of Giotto, Botticelli, Raffaello (Raphael) and Leonardo da Vinci to name only a few.

Not an art-lover? Or a fan of museums?  You should see a least a few Renaissance masterpieces while you are in Florence.
I have a suggestion….go to church.  It doesn’t matter if you are faith-filled or faith-less, just go.  You can’t make a bad choice.  The churches of Florence are filled with Renaissance art treasures.  Santa Maria del Fiore (the Duomo), San Lorenzo, Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce and Orsanmichele are a few steps from the Uffizi.  Further from the historic center is San Miniato al Monte, which can be reached on foot by climbing up the hill from Piazza Poggi (or you can take a bus).  San Miniato is a short walk from the Piazzale Michelangelo (Piazzale Michelangiolo), the famous large terrace high on the hillside overlooking the city of Florence. 

You can’t miss Santa Maria del Fiore (the Duomo).  Stand in the historic center and look up.  In fact, as you walk toward the Duomo keep looking up.  Massive. Masterful. I have see it at midnight under the stars and circled with early morning mist on a grey day. 

If you are in the mood to “pay your respects” than go to Santa Croce and give your regards to Galileo, Michelangelo and Machiavelli…all entombed there along with other notable citizens of the city.

There is a special place in my heart for Orsanmichele.  Between the Duomo and Piazza della Signoria, on Via dei Calzaiuoli, Orsanmichele is not a sweeping catherdral.  In fact, the building was a market on the first floor with the upper floors used for grain storage.  When you enter, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark stone interiors.  Then you will see the Tabernacle of the Madonna della Grazie, one of the most “outstanding works of its kind in Italy”.  The tabernacle of marble, stone and bronze was created by Andrea di Cione (known as Orcagna).  Work began in 1349 and took ten years to complete.  The tabernacle frames an equally magnificent panel representing the Madonna delle Grazie by Bernardo Daddi.  The Madonna is said to have inherited the miraculous powers of the original image which was destroyed in a fire in 1304.  I begin and end each visit to Florence here.

No waiting.  No lines.  Take my advice.  Go to church.  Have a seat, close your eyes and let a bit of the Renaissance seep in. 

Located on a hill overlooking the gorgeous Val d’Orcia, Pienza is “un gioiello”
(a jewel) in the crown of the Tuscan hill towns.  Designed in 1459 by Bernardo Rossellino at the request of Enea Silvio Piccolomini (Pope Pius II), Pienza is often referred to as the “ideal Renaissance city”. . . fusing art, architecture and civilized living.  The main piazza, Piazza Pio II, is paved with Tuscan cotto (terra-cotta) tiles.  Only three surrounding buildings, the Duomo (cathedral), Palazzo Comunale (town hall) and Palazzo Piccolomini (papal palace) were completed. 

The center of the small village didn’t grow much beyond the piazza.  It is an easy walk from one end of the shop-lined main street, Corso Il Rossellino, to the other.  This street is intersected by smaller lanes, Via della Fortuna (fortune), Via dell’Amore (love) and Via del Bacio (kiss).  Hard to miss the romance of Pienza.  In fact, Pienza has graciously set the scene for movies such as Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet and The English Patient. 

I first arrived in Pienza immediately after my visit to Sant’Antimo (see Destino blog).  When I checked into the Hotel Relais Il Chiostro di Pienza, I was already in a state of absolute euphoria.  The loveliness of Il Chiostro, a restored 15^th century Franciscan convent in the center of town, only added to the joy of the day.  My room and the garden outside the breakfast room had sweeping views of the Val d'Orcia. 

I learned during later trips that Pienza is a very popular town for visitors.  Perhaps this is why I now visit in the more quiet late autumn.  Of course, it’s easy to understand the attraction.  Pienza was built to enchant.

After rounding out dinner at the Latte di Luna with a glass of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano and a slice of Pecorino di Pienza (the region’s famous cheese), I like to walk along the Corso Il Rossellino.  A turn down the Via dell’Amore ends at the town walls that overlook the Tuscan valley below.  If you are lucky, the moon will be casting its light across the ancient stonework. The rest of the world seems to vanish.  I have always preferred moonlight to the sun’s rays.  That’s when the magic happens. 

When I first started studying Italian, a friend had given me a copy of a gourmet magazine.  The feature article was about Tuscany so the issue was filled with photographs and recipes.  Not being much of a cook, I concentrated on the photos.
I kept going back to look at one photo in particular.  The photo caption was vague, simply stating “a picturesque abbey in Tuscany”.  There was something compelling about the abbey.  So much so, that I cut the photo out before I tossed the magazine. 

Now, I have to say, that at the time I was a “refrigerator door virgin”.  I wasn’t fond of what had become the customary use of a refrigerator door as a galleria d’arte. . .an easel for family notes, photos and kitschy magnets.  My door was pristine until that photo came into my life.  Completely captivated, I was being drawn in by the honey-colored stone and simple but beautiful Romanesque architecture.  The abbey was becoming a constant in my daily routine. 

Many months later, on a Sunday morning in Florence, I left the Hotel Tornabuoni Beacci to meet Jacopo.  He was a handsome, young tourism entrepreneur who was on the verge of making his mark on the Florence business scene.  That morning, however, he was going to give me my first tour of the Tuscan countryside.  The October day was postcard perfect.  We drove over narrow roads through rolling golden hills dotted with ancient towns.  We visited Colle di Val d’Elsa, built high up on the bank of the river Elsa, Greve, a pretty market town in the heart of Chianti and Montefioralle, rated one of the most beautiful villages in Italy.

Jacopo had an evening appointment in Florence so by mid afternoon I suggested that we head for Pienza, our final destination.  He insisted that we stop to see “one last thing”.  We followed a winding road south of Montalcino.  As we rounded a wide curve in the road, I looked to the right through a clearing in the overgrown shrubs.  All at once, it appeared. My abbey!  Right before me, sitting in a large clearing, the extraordinary Abbazia di Sant’Antimo.

I don’t think that I have ever been able to adequately describe what it was that I felt.  Driving closer, I could not take my eyes off of Sant’Antimo.  As I walked through the doors and down past the stone lions that flanked the steps, rays of late afternoon sunlight streamed into the church through the lancet windows above the large wooden crucifix on the altar. 

I wasn’t shaking.  More like quaking from the inside out.  Standing in the center aisle, I felt as though a heavy woolen overcoat that I had been dragging around most of my life had dropped from my shoulders.  My heart seemed to move up and expand out making room for the peace that was rushing in.  I could not stop the tears. 

Time seemed to shift from present to past. . .then back again.  It was soothing to know that I was not alone in this.
For centuries, pilgrims had filled the abbey with their hearts and souls. . .dreams and prayers.  I added mine to theirs.

Whenever I am in Tuscany, I return to Sant’Antimo.  Every visit is different from the last but always resonant.  An abiding chord.  I believe that if you don’t get in the way, you can be brought to where you need to be.  Destino?  Destiny?
I am certain of one thing, il mio cuore vive lì dove Dio risiede.  . . my heart lives there, where God resides.

I had always wanted to study the Italian language.  Whenever I heard it spoken or sung, it sounded like a symphony.  The ears may hear music but it is the heart that listens.

Unfortunately, my search for an Italian teacher was going nowhere.  I had contacted the schools in the area without success.  In desperation, I even called the local chapter of a well-known Italian-American organization and was told that “everyone who had spoken Italian was dead”.  This particular comment was to become one of Rosalba’s favorite parts of this story. 

My last call was made to a private school nearby.  I was told that there was a new Latin teacher from Bologna, Italy on the staff.  Perhaps she would have time to be my tutor?  I began to leave messages not realizing that it was school vacation.  Apparently, I mentioned the “everyone who had spoken Italian was dead” response that I had gotten.  And this, no doubt, was the impetus for her returning my calls. . .concerned that she too might fall victim to this ominous fate.

We arranged to meet on Valentine’s Day, as she was staying late to chaperone the school dance.  I have mentioned the experience of recognition as it relates to my first visit to Florence.  I believe with all my heart that when Rosalba and I met, it was a recognition.  Ah, here you are, my friend!   We talked for two hours, spending only about five minutes on the subject of tutoring.

For months, my classroom was the dining room of a little wood-shingled house that sat a few streets back from the ocean’s edge.  I studied my “baby” Italian while dinner cooked on the stove in the kitchen. 

One evening, as I worked diligently on my grammar, Rosalba asked, “So when are you going?”

“Where?” I said.

With a look of both disbelief and exasperation, Rosalba laughed and answered, “Italy!”

In that book which is

My memory...

On the first page

That is the chapter when

I first met you

Appear the words...

Here begins a new life

                   -- Dante

Ti amo più della luna e delle stelle.

After enjoying many wonderful restaurants over the years in Florence and Tuscany, I think that some of the best food is made at home.  What could be better than a dish lovingly prepared with the freshest ingredients by a friend in her cozy Tuscan kitchen?  None better than the wonderful La Marta!  If you have been reading my blogs, you met La Marta in “Mashed”.  One of the many delicious things about staying in the apartment in her house in Chianti is starting and ending the day at her table.

My mornings usually began with slices of warm crusty Tuscan bread smothered with Marta’s own marmellata di mirtilli (blueberry jam).  I gave up on my manners after the first bite!   It was at the end of an exhilarating day driving around the Tuscan countryside that I first met Gnudi.  Dinner started with crostini toscani, thin slices of lightly toasted Tuscan bread spread with chicken liver pâté. . .and my favorite creamy cannellini (white beans) piled on the sliced toast and drizzled with olio nuovo (newly pressed olive oil).  I could have stopped there.

Marta, however, was just getting started.  What came next, presented in a lovely china bowl, was something I hadn’t seen before.  Dumplings? No. Pasta? No.  Gnudi?  What?

Yes, gnudi (nudie) are ball-shaped spinach and ricotta ravioli without the pasta.  Essentially “naked” filling served in a warm bowl, gently tossed with farm-fresh melted butter and topped with shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano.  This dish, often saved for special occasions, transported me to a very heavenly place.  In fact, I don’t remember much about the rest of the meal except that at some point La Marta’s phone rang.  I could hear my friend Gabriella repeating “piano, piano” (slowly, slowly) imploring her mother not to “feed Anna to death”.

Troppo tardi.  Too late.  I had already traveled to the “other side” and had a taste of heaven’s menu.

Even before Twitter, Facebook and the onset of more ferocious paparazzi,
David was probably one of the most reproduced images of all time!  In airports and cities throughout Italy, you can find all or part of David on T-shirts, mugs, refrigerator magnets, cards, pens and…baby bibs?

In today’s media culture, entertainment reporters would be warning David's PR people that he is in danger of becoming over exposed. It’s a wonder that anyone bothers to go to see the real statue!

My advice?  Elbow your way through all of that clutter and when you arrive in Florence put visiting the Galleria dell’Accademia at the top of your list. 

When you enter the first long hall, please resist the temptation to rush past what appear to be unfinished sculptures that line the hall leading up to David.  They are a clue to understanding the true magnificence of David’s creation. These sculptures, Michelangelo’s Prisoners, seem to be struggling to free themselves from their marble prisons.  If you haven’t had the time or inclination to read the many scholarly volumes written by art historians in the centuries since David was completed, then take a moment to consider Michelangelo’s own words about his work:

"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

Imagine that it is 1504 and with each chip that falls from Michelangelo’s chisel the fearless face of David emerges from a giant block of marble.  Miracoloso.  Miraculous.  Benvenuti a Firenze. . .welcome to Florence.