Completely Lost

After rushing back to San Gimignano and driving around the town a few times without a successful Clayton and/or Mimi sighting, we parked the car and decided to search on foot. We were debating whether he had said "the main plaza", which would have meant one of two piazzas in this town, or "the main gate", which would have meant also one of two major gates, but on opposite ends of town.

We decided to split up, one of us going north and the other south. To make a long story short, we eventually did find them separately and we all joined up. At this point, we have about an hour and fifteen minutes to return our rental car to the airport AutoEurope counter. We have no time to spare.

We returned to Casalare Remignoli, leaving Clayton to catch some much needed sleep while Jennifer drove our rental car, with Mimi as passenger, and I followed in the Clayton/Mimi rental. The plan was simple - return the car as quickly as possible to the airport, hop into the other car, come back.

For those of you who are still with me, don't worry. The title "Completely Lost" doesn't refer to Jennifer at all, who managed to get the rental back to the airport and not incur a charge for a second day. No, folks, "Completely Lost" is all about me.

Before we left, we asked Lorenzo how to get to the airport. "Simple," he says in his suave Italian accent, "you take the A1 and there are signs for the airport." Right on! We embark.

You know that panicky feeling you get when you're following someone in their car, and you know that you're following a dark blue car with license plate blah-blah-blah, and a few cars get between you, but you don't worry because you absolutely know where they are, and then you finally catch up with that dark blue car and IT'S NOT THE RIGHT CAR? Okay, now magnify that panic by OH MY GOD I'M IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY DOING 80 MPH WITHOUT A DRIVER'S LICENSE. Yes sir, that be me.

Also factor in the fact that the signs for the aeroporto in Florence are really tiny, especially on the autostrada.

So, yes, she lost me. I was keeping pace with her until the A1. Two cars got between us. Five cars got between us. I was so focused on catching up to her that I didn't look at the exit signs, figuring I would get behind the Fiat and I would just take the same exit she takes. You know what happens next - I blew right past the airport exit, and in fact I blew past all of the Florence exits in general. Firenze. Firenze Nord. Right about the time I hit the mountain tunnel I said to myself:

"Hm, I don't remember going through a tunnel coming from the airport."

And then I look up, and there are mountains and rivers and no Florence and no airport, just me and a bunch of cars hurtling down the A1. I look and there are no exits to be found, and I scramble to look at the little map of Tuscany that the AutoEurope office provided for us, and it means nothing at all.

OH MY GOD I'M IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY DOING 80 MPH WITHOUT A DRIVER'S LICENSE

There is nothing for me to do but think and panic. I try to panic less and think more. I take one exit but it turns out to be just a rest stop. Every minute that passes takes me further from the airport, and I'm hoping against hope that she continued on to the rental counter and returned the car, but without me they have no wheels to go anywhere. I look over the divider and my heart sinks - it is rush hour in Tuscany, and the traffic going the other way on the A1 back to the airport is at a dead stop. Such a dead stop that people are actually getting out of their cars and smoking cigarettes.

Finally, I see an exit sign - Barberino. Good enough for me. I come down off of the exit and manage to aim the car at the toll booth with the picture of a man assisting the driver. I stop, roll down the window, and the stern autostrada toll booth guy stares down at me. I smile weakly and pass the toll ticket up to him. He asks me for the toll in Italian, which at this point my brain isn't even going to start to comprehend. I start throwing money into his hand until he presses the button for the gate.

Immediately to my right is a small office plaza with a store with a big 'I' on it, hopefully for information. I park the car, run into the office, which turns out to be tourist information, and wait and pace as the attractive young Italian woman behind the counter continues with her obviously personal telephone conversation. While I am waiting, I look at the counter and find a cartoony rip-away poster map of Tuscany, which prominently shows the A1 and its exits. I HAVE DRIVEN A THIRD OF THE WAY TO BOLOGNA.

She finally puts her friend on hold and looks at me, My anxiety has turned me into a full blown obnoxious American. "DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?" I say, very loudly and slowly so that the international palaver may commence. "Yes," she says, and seems friendly enough, probably out of fear of this fat, sweaty, panicked American standing in her office. I tell her that I have missed the airport in the worst way, and she is kind enough to tell me that I can get back on the A1 going south at the same point where I just came from, and tells me which exit to take. Firenze Nord.

I get back into the car and right into the southbound traffic jam I spoke of. There are still people getting out of their cars to smoke and talk, and meanwhile I still don't know what's going on in the other half of my marriage. I hope she got the car returned. On the A1, there doesn't seem to be a concept of "stop and go" traffic. It's more like "stop, then go" because mysteriously traffic started moving like nothing was wrong.

It takes me forty five minutes to drive back down to Florence, weaving and dodging through traffic until, blessedly, I am at the small crummy little airport that is Amerigo Vespucci. I drive straight to the rental car dropoff lot, and I do not see them. I run to the front of the terminal, and they are not sitting there waiting for me, I run into the terminal, and shops are closing up for the day, and guys with floor waxers are beginning their rounds, and still I do not see them.

As a last resort, I walk over to the auto rental counters on the other side of the terminal and I see Mimi standing outside. And at that moment, the world comes back together again.

Have You Seen Me?

We woke up and waited. There has been no word from Clayton and Mimi since the 2am message from Newark about the flight cancellation, which was now well over 24 hours ago. Despite being in the midst of such unparalleled beauty that is Tuscany, we are beginning to worry.

Time passed, and lunchtime rolled around. With Jinny in tow, we took a short hop to San Gimignano just to see the town and have lunch. Amazingly, this small 13th century hill town has an internet café, and so after we had finished eating, Jennifer left the restaurant to check the Gmail account while Jinny and I waited for the bill.

Lo and behold, there is a message from Jennifer’s sister who informs us that Clayton and Mimi are booked through to Florence via Rome and are arriving in Florence at 10:30 a.m. today, which was 5 hours ago. At this point, we are more than a little confused, since I had made it clear to her sister that Clayton was to call the inn as soon as he knew what time he would be arriving, especially since we now had a rental car and were planning on returning it to the airport when we met up with them. So part of the mystery is solved – they are in Italy. A bigger mystery emerges - where in Italy are they?

We rushed back to Casalare Remignoli, fully expecting either Clayton and Mimi to have arrived or to have a message waiting for us saying that they was waiting for us at the airport. Things are becoming rushed, as we must return our rental car before 6pm to avoid being charged for an extra day, but we have no idea where in Italy they are and we have no means of contacting them. We arrive back at the inn to find no message and no updates. A quick phone call to the Autoeurope counter at the airport reveals that their rental car was picked up at 12:30 this afternoon. The mystery deepens.

Although it pains us to do so, we decide to leave a note for Clayton and Mimi saying that we are at the airport returning our rental, and we need to be picked up whenever they get the chance. We are about to leave when, from across the courtyard, I can see Lorenzo speaking on his mobile phone. I see him look up and notice us, and he opens his office door and starts walking across the yard to us. Our hearts skip a beat and then I realize, yes, Lorenzo is talking to Clayton and is trying to give him directions to the inn. Jennifer takes the phone from Lorenzo and asks Clayton where he is.

Turns out, he's standing in the middle of the park in San Gimignano. Yes, the San Gimignano we just came from.

Holding Court at Babylon

We held trilingual palaver this evening between ourselves, a German couple named Klaus and Ellen who had also arrived for their first evening in Tuscany, and Silvia. Later in the evening, a young woman named Jini from Washington DC joined us, passing through for two evenings on her way to Naples. Though none of the seven of us were fluent in anything other than our native languages, we bonded over small, simple conversation and the amazing meal that Silvia had prepared.

A little information about Casolare Remignoli - Lorenzo, whose family owns the inn, also is responsible for the production of olive oil and the harvesting of saffron. As a result, Silvia's first course, a simple penne pasta served with a saffron sauce, was an outstanding demonstration of the quality of the family's saffron. When we commented on the intense saffron flavor of the dish, Silvia was more than happy to show us her large mason jar which was half full of pure crimson saffron threads. At today's market prices, the amount of saffron in Silvia's mason jar would have been worth well over a thousand dollars.

Penne with saffron

The language barrier was amusing, to say the least. When Jennifer attempted to explain what Bistecca alla Fiorentina was to Klaus, who did not understand the word "beef" or "steak", I thought for a moment and said "Klaus, Moooo!" and he understood immediately. That was the beginning of a strange conversation where we discovered that German cows say "moo" and German chickens say "cluck cluck", but German dogs do not say "woof" or "arf" or "bark".

Klaus was also under the impression that grappa was a drink best served at breakfast, which was a misconception much harder to dismiss when there is a language barrier involved. I believe I just resorted to laughing maniacally at him. We drank two or three bottles of red wine to our respective arrivals, and then after coffee Silvia brought out grappa and we drank some more, and then we lingered over the remains of the meal with Jinny while Klaus and Ellen retired to their room. This only caused Silvia to bring out biscotti and vinsanto, which stung like hell but went down anyway, and the day that had become such an ordeal of troubling news and emergency plans came to a quiet, peaceful, and more than a little fuzzy, end.


Remignoli dining room

Arrival at Casolare Remignoli

The scenery in Tuscany is nothing short of amazing and breathtaking. We wound our way down the highway in our rented Fiat, taking the exit for Poggibonsi, then following signs towards Ulignano, then finally towards Remignoli. At one point, the directions took us up a steep incline, which became curvier and decidedly less paved the further we drove. We passed vineyards lit by the setting sun, driving through lush forested areas that opened up into unspoiled grasslands. At one point, we thought that we had passed the bed and breakfast for sure, since the road had shrunk to half of its original width, became mostly loose gravel, and headed downwards. We stuck to it, though, and the road once again turned into an incline as we climbed another hill, and within a few minutes we pulled into the main gate of Casolare Remignoli, trailed by a cloud of dust kicked up by the Fiat's tires.

Road to Remignoli

Casolare Remignoli

Remignoli guesthouse

We arrived to the barking of a large dog, who was held on a short chain next to the building. He turned out to be one of those really friendly jumpers, though, and a rough rub kept him wagging and leaning against my legs. A door opened, and a small Italian woman came out who we would later learn was Silvia, who cooked the meals and cleaned the rooms. Silvia spoke no English, and we spoke pretty much no Italian., so it was with amusing difficulty that we identified ourselves and she set us up in our room. Through pantomime and inflection, we were able to understand each other well enough to accept her offer cook dinner for us that night, since we were not at all confident that we would have been able to make it back to the bed and breakfast in the after the sun had set. When we asked what time dinner would be ready, she grabbed my wrist and showed me on my watch. 8:30. Amidst the sounds and smells of Silvia cooking in the kitchen, we took a dip in the pool and wondered aloud what we had done to be so lucky to be on this hill, on this night, with this outstanding view of the hill town of San Gimignano in the distance.

Remignoli porch

Pool with a view

San Gimignano

The Trouble with Airplanes

The visit to the Uffizi consumed the majority of the day, and it was getting close to the time where we had to catch a taxi to the airport, so that we could meet up with Clayton and Mimi at the AutoEurope rental counter, pick up the rental, and head out to the Casalare Remignoli bed and breakfast outside of San Gimignano.

Right before making arrangements to catch a taxi, we ducked into the internet cafe to check for any last minute developments

This is the part of the story where big trouble rears its ugly head, and Vonage saves the day, and we end up embarking on one of those completely unplanned vacation adventures that you remember and talk about for years and years. Here goes:

We checked our Gmail account, and immediately recognize big trouble in little Chianti. Vonage users have the ability to have voicemail messages emailed as WAV files to any email address in the world, and our Vonage account is setup with Jennifer's Gmail account as the contact address. There is a voicemail message that has been emailed from our home phone number, and it is from Clayton. The substance of his message is as follows - it is 2am, they are in Newark International Airport and their flight from Dallas to Newark was cancelled, they've missed their outbound flight from Newark to Milan and both outgoing flights after that are completely booked. An email message from Jennifer's sister pretty much says the same thing. They will not be arriving today.

We sit there in the internet cafe, stunned by this news. There are no contingency plans. There is no further information. It dawns on us that we will not be seeing them today, and that we must make our own way to the Casolare Remignoli bed and breakfast in San Gimignano.

A quick check with the Frommer's guide indicates that, yes, you can get there from here. But to get to San Gimignano via public transportation, we would have to take a train to a bus to another bus, which gets us to the town, then we'd have to take a taxi of undetermined distance to the bed and breakfast. With luggage.

We decided that it was the better route to try to rent a car for one day, which is an extraordinarily easy thing to do if you happen to need a car and are sitting in front of an internet connection. We went to the AutoEurope website and secured a Fiat for the day, then grabbed a taxi to the local office in downtown Florence. While Jennifer is busy signing paperwork and securing the reservation, I run to the nearest internet cafe, slap a couple of euros down and email Jennifer's sister to tell her what's happening. I tell her to call her dad, and give him the phone number to the bed and breakfast, and as soon as they are in Italy, give us a call and we'll come drop off our car at the airport and hop into theirs.

A few minutes later, we are rocketing down the Firenze/Siena autostrada towards Casalare Remignoli in our peppy Fiat Stilo. The windows are down, the wind is in our hair, with the crowds and noise of Florence speeding away in our rear-view mirror.

Doing the Uffizi

Nine years ago, we came through Florence as part of our tour and did not get around to visiting the Uffizi Galleries. Today, we decided to make good on our promise to come back to it.

We woke up early, having decided to get to the Uffizi Galleries before the lines to purchase tickets got too long. Reaching the end of the line at 9:30am, it would appear that, in order to have skipped the wait, we probably should have camped out like it was Episode III. The plaza around the Uffizi Galleries is approximately U-shaped. The line for admittance started at one end of the "U" and wrapped fully around to the other side.

Uffizi line

Thankfully, it was very pleasant weather, and we took turns standing in line while the other would sit on the steps or wander the plaza. There were a few high points during the wait - we saw Rachael Ray filming in the Uffizi plaza, and I pestered her to autograph our Frommer's guide. I felt like a heel for oh, about ten minutes. But, hey, autographed Frommer's!

Unless you are a serious art freak with a learned appreciation for what you are seeing, visiting the Uffizi is much like going to Six Flags. In other words, the line for the Uffizi takes approximately 3 hours to get through, and the museum itself can be casually managed in about an hour.

If you have previously read my account of our visit to the Louvre in Paris, I will advise you now that this post contains the same amount of art commentary as that post did. Namely, zero.

Best meal yet

Holy cow. Madre de Dios. Whatever exclamation you want to put there, put it there, because I just had one of the best meals ever. We dined this evening at Acqua Al 2, a little tiny place just a couple blocks away from Santa Croce. This place was so good that we made reservations on the spot for Sunday night, and we're planning on taking my dad and my step-mom there then. I also apologize in advance for any uncaught spelling errors, because we had a LOT of wine tonight, very, very good wine, and I am feeling the buzz, y'all.

Anyway. The restaurant was small, but beautiful. I was a little bit on my guard at first, because it had a pretty trendy vibe, and if there's one thing I wanted to avoid over here, it's trendy. But Derek had heard good things, so we gave it a go. The thing that's one of the hallmarks of Acqua Al 2 is the assagio option, which is offered with each course. The assagio is basically a tasting of three to five things on that menu. We did the assagio for the first course (the past a course) and were treated to: fusilli with a thick, pesto-like spinach sauce; penne with a flavorful but not too heavy gorgonzola sauce; rigatoni with a vegetable tomato sauce that was so thick and savory that I mistook it for meat sauce at first; farfalle with a zucchini suace; and red pepper risotto. Each of these were amazing, but I think the spinach one was my favorite. It had a bright green flavor -- I know of no other way to describe it -- that was fresh and perfectly seasoned. EAch of the pastas were cooked to perfection as well, I should add.

for the secondi Derek and I decided not todo the assagio, but rather order our own plate. Derek got the veal loin in a fresh porcini sauce that was delicate, buttery and just fantastic. I, however, won the dinner lottery, because I had one of the best things I've ever eaten: a grilled fillet served in a thick, sweet and savory balsamic reduction. The balsamic had been reduced to the consistency of ketchup, really, and was unbelievably good. It was the perfect balance of sweetness and tanginess that was an incredible complement to the fillet, which any meat-lover knows is usually a pretty bland cut of meat. I'll tell you know, it took a heck of a lot of willpower to refrain from licking the damn plate when the meat was gone.


filetto

The dessert assagio was very good, cosisting of a chocolate layer cake with vanilla icing made crunchy with granulated sugar, a tiramisu that puts every connotation of that dessert in the states to shame, a lemon custard pie, and a marvelous papaya something-or-other. The desserts were delicious, to be sure, but for the money you'd be better served by skipping it and walking around the corner to the world-famous Vivoli for some of the best gelato found on the planet.

Oh, and the house red was so good that we ended up finishing two halves of a bottle, a rarity for us. So yeah: Acqua Al 2. Best meal of the trip so far. Tomorrow we meet up with Dad and Mimi, and after that I'm betting our internet access will be spotty at best, as we'll be wandering the countryside. I'm betting not many of the tiny towns we'll be hitting have internet cafes, and even if we do find one I doubt Dad and Mim will be very amenable to letting me sit for an hour to scribble stuff here. We'll see. At worst we'll both update stuff once we get home.

It's like the Arc de Triomphe, but worse

We are hot, grubby, and unbelievably exhausted. Why? There's a great story to explain our current state, but first let me start at the beginning of our day.

After a pleasant breakfast, we walked from our B&B to the Arno. We crossed the Arno and made our way up a winding path and up some stairs to the Piazzale Michelangiolo, an overlook situated on a hill that offers a pretty spectacular view of Florence. We took a bunch of pictures, all of which will no doubt fail to do justice to their subject, and began our trek down, which took us through a formal rose garden. The roses were just past their bloom -- I bet it was pure heaven a week and a half ago -- but they were still quite beautiful and wonderfully fragrant.


The Arno river

View of Florence from Piazzale Michelangiolo

Florence from the rose garden

Anyway, from the garden we walked back across the Arno by way of the Ponte Vecchio, Florence's oldest bridge. It was the only bridge to survive the Nazis, who blew up all other means of crossing the river except this one. Very big of them.

Ponte Vecchio was crowded, as you'd expect. Actually I think it's more accurate to say it was choked with tourists, but it did make me really happy that we weren't on a tour. By this time we were getting rather hungry, so after an extended search for a Bancomat (ATM), we headed over to the Meracato Centrale, an enormous indoor market that was a little bit reminiscent of Philly's Reading Terminal, but much, much better. At the Mercato Centrale, we had lunch at Nerbone, an institution in its own right, famous for its tripe (tender and delicious, served in a tomato broth) and for its phenomenal beef sandwiches. The beef is sliced very thin and is served on a thick bun which is first dipped, cut side down, in the broth in which the meat is cooked. Add some green salsa (similar to pesto, but not quite) and you have one hell of a good sandwich. I think we might try to go back there, because day-um.

Our last destination of the afternoon was the Duomo, the most recognizable part of any picture of Florence. The Duomo is the city's main cathedral, a gorgeous architectural wonder made of white, rose and green marble. The most astounding thing about the Duomo, though, is its dome, which sits like a huge terra cotta egg at one end of the cathedral. The dome was considered a miracle when it was completed in 1436, because it was larger and higher than any dome previously built. And, for a mere 6 euro per person, you can see this marvel up close and personal. Of course, this does mean having to climb some 463 steps all the way to the top. Which we did.

Duomo

Inside the Duomo

The climb seems easy enough, at first, because you're dealing with just three sets of stairs at a time, which ascend in a square spiral. Just when you start to get tired, you reach the first of several landings. And, if you haven't been counting, at this point you think to yourself, hey, that wasn't bad. But then you look around the corner and discover a new staircase, one that's considerably narrower and that goes up in a tight, circular spiral. And once you reach the end of that one, again you're fooled into thinking that's it, only to find out that your climb is far from over.

You go up at least two more flights of stairs, each of which gets progressively steeper. The real kicker, though, is the staircase that takes you up the dome. See, up until this point the stairs have been climbing the dome in a steady path spiraling up the circumference of the dome, but at some point continuing that would put too much pressure on the dome, so you basically climb up the longitude of the dome on steps that arch up and away from you at a curving 50 degree angle.

Cupola stairs

The very last set of stairs is really more like a stone ladder that takes you up and outside to the very pinnacle of the dome. Provided your legs haven't completely collapsed from under you a few flights back, you are treated to an unparalleled view of the city. The top observation area is circular, so you can walk around and see all parts of the city. The view straight down, down the curve of the dome and to the street below, was enough to make my legs shake. Actually, whether that was genuine acrophobia or just the after-effects of the monumental climb to the top is anyone's guess. Heh.

Down the cupola

Campanile and cathedral

And it was a tough climb -- much, much worse than the Arc de Triomphe, but I'd have to say the view was also much better than the one we had in Paris. Le melas e gli arancias, I suppose. But now we are tired, grimy, and in desperate need of showers, so we're off to rest for a couple of hours back at the B&B before heading out again for dinner. It's been a great trip so far.

Sunset over the Arno.

No Sleep Till Firenze

I have a heretofore undiscovered attraction to German women. Hm.

We sat at the airport restaurant, Kuffler & Bucher, and had a meal that was probably the best airport meal I've ever had. We made our way to the gate for our outbound flight to Florence, where I found a free coffee machine, and eventually resumed our journey to Florence, four hours later than our original intent.

Upon arriving in Florence and picking our bags off of the carousel, we were very surprised to find that the Amerigo Vespucci airport is actually quite small and dingy. Six gates, at most. We walked out of the baggage claim area and out of the airport, directly to the taxi loop. We walked up to one of the drivers, pointed out our destination on our laminated map, and were on our way.

Zooming through the streets of Florence, we were tired but happy to finally be here. Soon enough, we were standing in front of our bed and breakfast, ringing the bell for Senora Martini. She buzzed us in, and we hauled our luggage up the stairs to the first floor. She greeted us warmly, though she spoke very little English, and gave us the very quick tour of our lodging.

Our room was simple and comfortable. Two beds, a dresser and a table, with a very high ceiling. Our bathroom was across the small dining area immediately outside of our room. Senora Martini indicated to us that there was a mosquito, or zanzarra, problem, but showed us a small foil packet that she said would help as a repellent. Later that evening, Jennifer opened the packet and found nothing but a small blue woody square, so we put it aside believing that its mosquito-repelling magic would be invoked at some point in the evening.

Our room in Florence

We strolled into town, about a 20 minute walk. I had wanted to try a restaurant that I had read about in the Frommer's guide called Il Latini, but upon rounding the corner we saw a mob of about 50 people lined up outside, all clamoring to get a table. We wandered the immediate area and settled on a small trattoria, where we tucked into some steak, some wine, and some good conversation with a Canadian teacher and her dining companion who were seated next to us. After dinner, we wandered back to our bed and breakfast, stopping briefly to take in the darkened Duomo and some gelato, and then fell into bed for the rest of the night.

Delay ain't just a senator from Texas.

May 23rd / 24th - Philadelphia, Washington, Frankfurt.

Right now we are seated in Kuffler & Bucher, a restaurant in Frankfurt airport. We have just finished our meal, which was quite good I had the schnitzel and Derek had the Munich boiled veal sausage. I was a little afraid of Derek's meal at first, since the sausages, being white and puffy, were a bit reminiscent of, say, gigantic larva, but thankfully it was much more delicious than the appearance would suggest. The reason we are here in Kuffler & Bucher, dining on schnitzel and sausage, is that our stupid flight from Washington was about ten minutes late arriving, so that, plus the fact that we only had a 45 minute layover to begin with, plus the fact that we had to go way the hell over to another terminal, meant that we missed our flight. But United gave us a meal voucher, thus here we sit.

Frankfurt walkway

As for the trip itself: so far I definitely prefer Air France, for reasons that are quite easy to understand. Observe:

Air France gives you these wonderful little travel packs that have in them eye shades, ear plugs, headphones, a mint, a moist handy-wipe, and one or two other things I've forgotten. United doesn't give you any of that. Air France 1, United 0.

Air France has a cool map that is visible both at the front of the cabin and on the screen on the chair in front of you. During takeoff and landing this display shows the video feed from a camera loaded underneath the fusilage, which gives you a trippy view of things. During the flight, it shows the velocity, altitude, external temperature, and approximate location at that moment, which my little geek heart just loves. United doesn't have any such display. Air France 2, United 0.

Air France gives you access to several movies, each of which start every fifteen minutes or so. United gives you access to several movies, but they're running at the same time, so it's entirely possible to start watching a film in the middle, with no way of watching the beginning unless you wait out the movie. Air France 3, United 0.

United gives you steamed washcloths just before your meal. Air France does not. Air France 3, United 1.

Air France's airplane food is actually quite good, as far as airplane food goes, and comes with free wine! United's food is very similar to a standard frozen dinner, and wine is an extra $5 a glass. Air France 4, United 1.

Advantage: Air France. No question about it.

Later
And now we're seated just outside of Kuffler & Bucher, taking advantage of the wi-fi hotspot here. I'm tired, I'm ready to be in Florence, but I'm in a much better mood than I was two hours ago. I am hopeful that this will be the only major glitch of this trip. Plus, it's nice to be able to distract myself by checking e-mail and, you know, posting here.

WiFi 1,000,000. Rest of the non-WiFi world: 0.

The Baby Lottery

As we sat in our seats waiting for the plane to leave the gate, a young man hurried up the aisle carrying a baby carrier in one hand and his little toddler in his other arm. Cold fear gripped my heart as he settled into the seat directly across the aisle from me. As you may know, our flight back from Paris saw us seated behind not one, but two babies, and ultimately that experience ended with a vomit-laden baby blanket dropped onto my arm somewhere over the Atlantic. As I stared in silent horror at the small child, she smiled sweetly at her father and fell asleep. Whew.

But the cruel wheel of the Baby Lottery does not stop turning until it has found a victim. Just as the flight attendants were about to seal the doors, three new passengers board the plane.

A man. A woman. A baby.

As transatlantic luck would have it, they sit directly behind us. And the baby starts wailing during takeoff, in direct competition with the roar of the dual Pratt and Whitney turbofan engines propelling us 400mph down the runway. The baby is winning.

Eventually, the baby calms and falls asleep. At this point, I should have gotten some sleep, since my watch showed it to be 10:30pm or so. Silly me, I decide to stay up until the inflight meal is served, figuring the food in my gullet would help me to fall asleep. So, after the thoroughly unmemorable meal (as evidenced by my utter lack of recall at this very moment), which was served at around midnight EST, I nestled into my seat, as well as one can nestle into an airline seat, and fell into as deep a sleep as one can in the white noise of a jetliner cabin.

Zzzzzzz.

2am EST, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Two hours of restful sleep irrevocably, brutally penetrated by the wailing of the baby behind us. I am actually told later that the baby actually stood on the seat at one point and wailed BETWEEN the seats directly into our faces. Biological clock now set to snooze for oh, another decade or so. Between 2am and our arrival in Frankfurt, I manage to fit in various fits of sleep but never fully return to REM sleep ever again.

Our flight lands in Frankfurt about ten minutes late. We find that the layout of Frankfurt International airport is evil and twisted and quite possibly designed by primates. We miss our connection to Florence and are told by the very polite Lufthansa gate agent that we have already been rebooked to Florence on a flight that leaves four hours later. We get a meal voucher for 20 euro for our troubles. Meh.

Hello We Must Be Going

We got to Philadelphia International airport with plenty of time before our flight to Dulles. So much time, in fact, that we decided to grab some food in Terminal D, seeing that we did not have enough layover time in Washington to get a decent non-fast food meal before the transatlantic flight.

So, with an hour and fifteen minutes before our flight to Dulles was to board, we stepped into a generic airport bar/restaurant and sat down. I should already have been suspicious when a man at the bar asked the bartender to watch his luggage for him while he stepped out to make a call, and as soon as he left the bar, she walked away into the kitchen and never once checked on the status of his bags. We placed our order for some generic bar food and waited.

15 minutes later, the waitress confirmed our order with us. 55 minutes later, we had been told three times that the food was coming. An hour and five minutes later, we picked up our things and walked out, pretty much just as the food arrived, and five minutes after that our flight started boarding. Frustrating, to be sure, but deeply satisfying that we did not pay for anything and they were stuck with the food, which undoubtedly went very quickly to the next schlub who placed an order for the same item.

Our flight down to Dulles was quick and uneventful, and our layover was quite short, so we only had a few minutes to grab a bathroom break and Starbucks before we had to board our flight to Frankfurt. While prepping my coffee, the last cuppa joe I would see for a week, I grabbed a handful of Splenda which served me quite well in Italy, which apparently as a nation does not believe in artificial sweeteners. Meh.

So, with our carryon bags stowed and our iPods charged, we settled into our seats on the jumbo jet for the 7.5 hour flight to Frankfurt, connecting to Florence. The time was 9:30pm.

Have You Recently Gotten Married?

Do you remember my initial anxiety over using a ticket broker? When we arrived at Philadelphia International airport, we went to check in at the United Airlines counter, lugging our baggage with us with the goal of checking two pieces and only having one carryon to deal with.

After waiting in line for about five minutes, we got up to the counter and were greeted by a United Airlines employee who, while not rude, was pretty much all business. He took our airline tickets (which had been stuck to our corkboard for the past two weeks) and our passports. He started clicking away at his little keyboard and then furrowed his brow. He clicked some more keys. His brow did not unfurrow. He twitched his moustache.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Have you recently gotten married?" he said, brow still tightly stitched in a knot.

Immediately we relaxed. "No," we said, "we've been married nearly 9 years." My wife told him that the amendment to her maiden name was in one of the pages towards the back of her passport, and all was fine. His concerned look merely reflected the fact that he could not find her in the passenger database, because he was entering her maiden name as it appears on her passport. After punching in her married name, the database found her. He printed out our boarding passes.

"I was able to get two seats together for you two on your Philadelphia to Dulles flight, but not for the transatlantic flight to Frankfurt."

I was bewildered by this statement, and started thinking of 7.5 hours over the Atlantic stuck next to a stranger, getting up repeatedly just to walk over to talk to my wife. Probably about the stranger.

"But, I put a note in here saying that you guys were newlyweds, so when you get to Dulles just check in at the gate and they should be able to take care of you."

And you know what? They did. Thank you, United Airlines Moustache Man!

Planning to Not Make Plans

It's Wednesday. We leave on Monday evening. I'm only now getting to the halfway point of the one guidebook that we've bought for this trip, which is the Frommer's Florence, Tuscany, and Umbria guide. Other than that, we have a map of Florence, a small pocket dictionary, and my Master Menu Guide of Italian menu terms.

I've come to realize the differences between planning a trip to a city such as Paris and planning a trip to Tuscany. Paris almost planned itself, because there were so many obvious points of interest in terms of the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and all of the other "big" "must see" locations. Additionally, meal planning was also just a matter of pulling three or four restaurants out of hat containing the names of venerable culinary institutions that have been around for centuries.

Tuscany, by comparison, has a lot of secrets to give up. From what I have read, both in Frommer's and on online message boards, a lot of the experience that defines Tuscany involves accidentally stumbling onto some unexpected find - a great table wine produced by a family from their backyard vineyard, freshly pressed olive oil that only hours prior had still been encased in olives on the tree, small trattorias with absolutely amazing local cuisine, served with pride and honesty.

Sure, we'll do the Duomo and the Uffizi and the Gallerie Accademia, but beyond that I almost feel like I'm subconsciously not planning anything else very specific. As I sit here and flip through my Frommer's guide, I realize that we won't get to everything, but all is well, because the best experiences that will come out of this week will be things I could really never have planned in the first place.

San Gimi - Pretty as a Postcard

A lovely picture of San Gimignano, the town closest to our B&B. Photo is graciously furnished with permission from the photographer, Mr. Mark Zanzig. And, just to keep it official: Photo copyright (C) by Mark Zanzig, www.zanzig.com. Check out his other Italy pictures while you're there. They're gorgeous.

What Can Brown Do for Us?

So, as it turns out, we received a UPS envelope on our doorstep on Tuesday that contained our plane tickets to Florence. After being told for two consecutive days by the ticket consolidator that they could not provide us with a tracking number because the tickets had not yet been picked up by UPS (even though they already had our money within 24 hours of the transaction), they finally gave us a tracking number on Monday that revealed the tickets were arriving on Tuesday.

After ripping open the package and examining the tickets very closely, we determined that our greatest fears were not realized, and that the tickets were not airline tickets to Albany with the word 'Albany' crossed out and the word 'Florence' written in crayon. We also determined that the tickets were indeed for Florence, Italy and not Florence, South Carolina.

So maybe I trust ticket consolidators a little more today than I did a few days ago.

20 days and counting

I still can't believe that we're going back to Italy. I mean, my dad has been talking about going for close to a year now, if not longer. And during the time he's been kicking around the idea of going with my step-mom, Mimi, I idly dreamed of Derek and I meeting them over there for a week. I know the thought of going to Europe with one's parents is horrifying to some, but I'm really fortunate, because I adore my dad and Mimi tremendously. Both Derek and I genuinely enjoy hanging out with them, so that, coupled with the fact that my dad's a total wine geek, means that the thought of tooling around Tuscany with them is enormously appealing to me.

I'll confess something here: Up until four months ago, I wasn't completely certain that Dad was actually going to go at all. And up until a mere three weeks ago I wasn't at all certain that we were going to be able to go, especially since we're aiming to buy a house within the next couple of months. I mean really, as of two weeks ago Dad didn't have anything booked, no tickets, no lodging, nothing. Plus, I don't know if you've looked recently, but airfare to Europe right now is insane. As in almost-impossible-to-find-under-a-grand-per-person - insane. But things worked out. We found a way to afford the trip without killing our house fund, I managed to get time off at my new job, Dad got his tickets, so did we, and now we're going. We're really and truly going.

Although since there was a solid five months between the purchase of tickets and actual travel of our last trip, I'm having a hard time acclimating to the realization that I'm going to be in Florence in less than three weeks. Wow.

Derek and I will be spending two days together in Florence, and then we'll meet up with Dad and Mim and make our way into the countryside. We're all staying at the same bed & breakfast -- this one, to be exact -- which is on a hillside overlooking the town of San Gimignano. By most accounts I've read San Gim is a pretty touristy town by day, but once the buses and tour vans leave in the afternoon, the town's true character and charm surfaces. The owner of the B&B is a guy named Lorenzo, and when he's not playing innkeeper he tends to his crop of saffron. Too bad saffron flowers in the fall, because I bet that field is a beautiful sight. The four days we're all together will be spent wandering all around the area, hitting some of the bazillion little towns, castles, wineries and olive groves that are scattered throughout the Tuscany and Umbria regions, and we might even sneak on up to Bologna, if we're feeling adventurous. Regardless, it's going to be a great trip.

Returning to Florence

Almost nine years ago, we went to Italy for our honeymoon as part of a tour. While we had the most wonderful time, the trip as a whole went by very quickly, like watching the landscape pass from a very fast moving car. Over the course of 14 days, we visited Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome, and Capri, spending two, at most three, nights in each city.

Last fall, we returned to Europe when we took a week-long trip to Paris, (interested? read more at Waiting for Paris). That time, without having had the preoccupation of planning a wedding, we had the time to do our research and go tour-free, opting instead to rent an apartment in the Marais and make a go of it on our own.

Over the past week or so, the opportunity for us to return to Italy, to Florence and the surrounding region, has presented itself, and this time we are going to experience Italy at a slower pace than we did nine years ago.

I have to admit that I am a little nervous, because this is the first time we've used a consolidator (broker) for our airline tickets. I am feeling less nervous since we have confirmed that our names are in the database for United Airlines for our outgoing flights. I won't be completely at ease until the paper tickets arrive via UPS from the broker.

As for lodging, that aspect of this trip has come together almost flawlessly. Once we had decided to go to Tuscany, we went to Borders to scout out a new Frommer's guide and, completely by accident, happened upon a book called Italian Bed and Breakfasts: A Caffelletto Guide which, in addition to being a very well presented guide to B&B's across Italy, also gives very clear instructions on booking these properties through Caffelletto.

And so, a few emails and credit card deposits later, we're completely booked for lodging - two nights in the city of Florence herself, followed by five nights in the hill town of San Gimignano.

This internet thing, hey, it really works wonders sometimes - a week's vacation in Tuscany, with three weeks' notice, signed, sealed, and delivered (almost) over the course of a weekend.

Plus, I flew a kite like a badass mofo on Sunday.

We are Duomo-bound!