Remember the three rules of The Princess Bride, like “Never
get involved in a land war in Asia”? We
have a fourth one to add: “Never attempt to drive anywhere in Tuscany without a
superb GPS and a firm grasp of Italian.”
Also, Dramamine.
We were so naïve this morning, optimistically setting out
with Google directions and insufficiently detailed maps. The villa in Tuscany where we’ll be spending
the next week was supposedly about 3.5 hours from Rome, and by going a bit out
of our way, we could also hit a very cool-sounding attraction on the way: a
thermal spring area with warm turquoise waters cascading down over a series of
waterfalls. This area is known for the
healing powers of its waters, and has been used for thousands of years. It’s also, we discovered, quite a bit off the
beaten path.
We quickly discovered our Google directions were useless,
since they said things like “Turn onto Provincial Route 105”. In Italy, provincial routes do not appear to
be labeled by number. Instead, they’re
labeled by the next (too small to appear on the map) village that they lead to. Also, in rural Tuscany no one seems to speak
English.
It took hours to get to the Terme di Saturnia. Luckily it was a very cool place – beautiful and
free and totally unspoiled, despite the substantial number of people
there. It was fortunate that the waters
were warm, because the day was quite chilly.
It was unfortunate that we had no towels, but we managed none the less.
Then came more hours attempting to get back to the
highway. We were winding through an
absolutely beautiful landscape, but no one was much in the mood to appreciate
it. We all chose to focus instead on not
throwing up in our new rental car. Bob
and I summoned up our Pimsleur-language-CD Italian skills and managed to ask
for directions, but the flaw in this plan quickly became evident: we would be
answered in a torrent of Italian of which we understood not a word. People were very friendly and helpful – one elderly
man talked nonstop for five minutes, gesturing all the while – but we pretty
much just had to rely on going the way they pointed then stopping to ask the
next person along the road. (Bob and I
later theorized that maybe they were saying things like, “Whatever you do, don’t
go that way. That would be the WORST
possible way to go.”)
We thought our troubles were over when we finally found the
highway again, but we soon discovered that the directions to our villa were
less than stellar. The first clue was
when the exit we were supposed to be taking from the highway (again, not
numbered) did not exist. There followed
several more increasingly desperate hours of travel, particularly when we
discovered our directions ended at a random point and there was no indication
of where to go from there.
I think the low point was when we stopped at a random
roadside house and I had a long conversation with an elderly deaf woman and her
daughter, who tried valiantly to assist me.
(At one point we even attempted to speak in French.) Eventually she pulled me to the window, and
pointed across the steep valley to a distant house on the opposite hillside. “Ma dove es LA VIA?,” <”but where is THE
ROAD?”, I think> I cried in despair, and there she couldn't help me.
Now before you feel all sorry for us, let’s turn to the tale
of our friends, the Brookses, who were BIKING to the villa from Florence. We passed them on the road at one point when
we were all under the impression that we were a couple of kilometers away. This was a very mistaken impression. We were about 14 kilometers away, over very
steep hills, and it was getting dark.
Bob had been planning to go back for them but this didn’t quite work out
when we couldn’t find the villa ourselves.
 |
| Asking directions in Greve in Chianti |
Eventually, thankfully, we made it, thanks to a helpful
resident of the tiny village of La Pescina, who was willing to walk with me and
actually point out the (small, dirt) road we needed to take. Upon arrival our hostess Silvia came running
out with a camera. Her husband Stefano
and his friends had gone off to rescue the Brookses, and he’d called her and
said, “You have to bring out your camera for this.” It was now fully dark; one of the friends
drove home a few of the Brooks kids while the others walked the bikes up the
final steep hill. The saintly Silvia
made us a big pot of pasta since no one could conceive of getting back in a car
(and it was now 8:30 at night). And she’d
left an amazing tiramisu in the fridge. And
the villa is amazing enough to make up for everything.
 |
| At this point Wendy cheerfully thinks she only has 2 km left to go. |
***
From Bob:
We won’t talk too much about today, save to say that a few
rules applied above and beyond Murphy’s Law.
One is that the longer the road is, the better the meal at the end. Another is that anything is better with the
Brookses involved.
We will
get the added pleasure of seeing them observe the surrounding countryside for
the first time tomorrow morning. Most of
them arrived after dark and were only able to take in the building itself,
which is plenty, really, to bite off in one sitting. Like the Coliseum, it loves up to our
elevated expectations. Give it high
marks for remoteness.
While
we’re at it, we’ll give Europecar a thumbs up for convenience and for giving
decent driving directions out of Rome.
Driving there was something I’d been dreading. Thankfully, Jen planned for us to be leaving on a Saturday
morning and traffic was light. Signage
was not great, though, and we had one snag before we hit the A1. It would not be the last.
The
girls also deserve much applause for rolling with the highs and lows of a
marathon driving day. Zoe’s singing
lessons carried them all through the worst of it.
 |
| That's Stefano and Silvia in the background. Their four-year-old son, Andreas, took this photo. This room dates from the 11th century! You can't really tell but the whole thing slants to the right because it was starting to fall over until a previous owner reinforced it. |
No comments:
Post a Comment