Well, our holiday is about done!  As I tap out this post we are nestled in the Qantas Lounge at T1, Changi International Airport waiting for a flight that will deliver us to Melbourne tomorrow morning, then onwards to home by lunch time.
I’ve had a chance to look back at the first post on this blog, where I said that we hoped to be active participants of the places we visited, rather than passive observers of them.  I think we have largely achieved that - certainly as far as Lucca and Tuscany were concerned.  Its a little more difficult to make that distinction over the course of 9 days in Rome, but I feel that we started to build a rapport in and with the neighbourhood of Testaccio.  Certainly the man in the gelato shop just near our apartment got to know our smiling faces!
A running gag throughout the entire trip has been the wildly contrasting opinions of my innate “Italian-ness” and my fluency in the language.  But even that banter underlines our aim of active participation.  In all the places we have visited we have tried initially to establish our credentials in appalling Italian.  We have, almost without exception, been exposed at the outset.  One proprietor hadn’t even let me drop my best bongiorno on him before he offered, in perfect English, the light switch in on the right.  Italian waiters have an innate sense of nationality.  Many times we entered a restaurant or trattoria, having not uttered a word, only to be immediately offered a menu printed in English.  But, regardless of the degree to which our efforts to communicate in Italian were tolerated, the interactions were almost always fun and our efforts were, I think, appreciated.
Anyway, without writing a full dissertation on the degree to which we met the aims and objectives of the trip, its fair to say that we have had a heck of a time and we consider ourselves to be extraordinarily lucky to have had the opportunity.
Here are some of my highlights:

• The 3 day travel plan to get to and from Europe has worked a treat.  We seem to have been able to incrementally adjust our 24 hour body clock by 9 hours on the way over and 10 hours on the way back without lingering after-affects.
• The Ufizzi Gallery and Vasari Corridor were stunning.
• Our active pursuit of the Buon Ricordo (decorated plate) restaurants was a hoot.  Each offered a very different dining experience.  And Dory and I now have 6 decorated pieces of memorabilia to be mounted somewhere prominent in our house.
• Lucca.  Just go there.
• Puccini and Mozart at the Cathedral of San Martino.
• Our villa in the tiny community of Coll di Compito was a home away from home, and a place to spend time with old and new friends, all of whom will be part of our memories of this trip.  Our hosts, Luisa and Damiano, were a delight, as was the process of discovering the village.
• Rosella the Grocer parking outside our gate and singing her announcement that she had fresh fruit and veg for sale.
• Vespas, geese, dogs, roosters, donkeys, and firm opinions expressed in Italian.
• The quality of Tuscan food and wine.
• Driving in Italy (well, I had fun!)
• The hilltop towns of the greater Lucca area.
• Wine and food at Fattoria al Dotto.
• Jumping herbs.
• Bumping into Maree and Lorenzo.
• The free samples of tonight’s tiramisu brought to us by Niccolo at DiVizie in Vicopisano.
• The climb to Castellaro.
• Lunch at Dario Cecchini’s in Panzanno.
• Seeing famous and priceless works of art.
• Finding Bec Bain’s plaque.

Arrivederci 😉

12 years ago, in October 2013, I scribbled a few thoughts about Rome, based on our first visit here:
​

Have you ever tasted a sauce, or a stock, or even a wine for that matter, and found it to be so complex, and to contain so many layers of competing and complimentary flavours, that it takes a little time to form an immediate impression about whether you like it or not?
Rome is that flavour.
Rome goes way beyond sweet, sour, salty, spicy.  These are just some of the elements I've detected in the past several days that go to making up the flavour of Rome:

• The organic chaos of the traffic, particularly at large sweeping city roundabouts,
• The number of people who smoke in the street,
• The charm of waiters and shop-keepers who patiently and playfully engage in faltering attempts to order in Italian,
• The extraordinary grandness and beauty of the architecture,
• The wealth and influence of the Catholic Church,
• Frank and loud public exchanges of opinion, complete with gesticulation,
• Street vendors who can instantly revert from sunglasses sales to umbrella sales at the first spit of rain,
• Aloof boutique vendors,
• Sardine tin buses,
• Beggars, exposing deformities and supplicating themselves in front of a cup which ALWAYS contains a single coin,
• Street performers who endure hours in the sun for a handful of coins,
• Pamphleteers around major tourist sites buzzing and stinging like March flies,
• Exceptional food and coffee,
• The sense of history,
• Statues and fountains of extraordinary beauty,
• Tiny alleys of plum and ochre coloured stucco and undulating cobblestones,
• Mopeds and bicycles,
• Car horns and the sirens of emergency vehicles,
• Double parking / corner parking / crazy parking!
• Pilgrimages.

It's an extraordinarily complex and addictive flavour, and one which I hope to return to one day.
​

Well, I consider myself to be really fortunate to have had a chance to return.  And, although it is in many ways a different city than it was in 2012, the observations I noted at the time remain.  Smokers are now supplemented by vapers and, in 2025 the number of pilgrims is multiplied by the Catholic jubilee.

This time we have been staying in Testaccio, which is about 2km south of the historical centre of the city and just a little bit grittier:  lots of graffiti, murals, restoration, uneven street cobblestones and hectic traffic.  But it has its charm too.  Our apartment is in an old building of similar apartments all surrounding a central courtyard and stacked about 5 storeys high.  There is a small park directly opposite, and just around the corner is the Piazza Testaccio, which we first saw at about 6pm on Sunday evening when it was chock full of families, grandparents down to toddlers, who were laughing and kicking footballs and generally enjoying the late summer evening.  Dory nailed it when she called it a happy place.

During this visit I have been a little less focused on the primary historical sites of the city (as if you can avoid such things in Rome!) and more focused on art treasures.  We found our way to the Contarelli Chapel a few days ago and I was surprised to find myself moved to tears standing in front of Carravagio’s St Matthew paintings.  Each time we wander by a large church, cathedral or basilica we have been making a point of spending ten minutes inside soaking up the sheer beauty of the interior.  And today I had my internal art thermostat completely baked by the delights of the Borghese Gallery!  I’m beyond words to describe the sensory overload I experienced there.

There is a feeling of melancholy in the air.  Rob and Jeans are making their high-speed way to Fiumicino Airport in Rome to commence the arduous trek home.  Dory and I are tidying loose ends and faffing about at the villa.  Tomorrow morning we will return the rental car to Pisa and then board the not-so-high-speed regional train down the shin of the boot of Italy for some time in Rome before we too head home.

Our time here in Tuscany has been, I think, more than we expected it to be.  I can only speak for myself, but I’ve fallen in love with the old city of Lucca, and with the greater region.  We’ve managed to ride around the walls and walk the streets of this remarkable old city; feel welcome within the tiny community of Colle Di Compito; spend time with old friends and new friends; marvel at the quality of the food and wine here; listen to the works of Puccini and Mozart performed by extraordinary singers in a medieval cathedral; visit and savour beautiful wineries, hilltop towns and restaurants; see world famous landmarks and the stupid way tourists behave around them; and walk in ancient cities, small villages and rural landscapes.  We’ve been the recipients of kindness, respect and generosity from the people of Tuscany.  I’ve formed a deep connection with this place that will be hard to ignore when we next decide to travel.

Do you remember the Buccellato di Lucca (the raisin and anise flavoured sweet bread) and the legend which says that anyone who comes to Lucca and doesn’t eat Buccellato might as well never have been here?  I ate plenty.  And I feel like I have been to Lucca.

Here are some of my favourite photos from Tuscany.  Onwards down the road!  And we know where all roads lead to …

Today our plan to drive to Castellare was quickly disabused.  Rob’s initial assessment of a walk of about ten metres, became a full-on, foot pilgrimage up the switchback route to the tiny hilltop church near the town of Vicopisano.  Castellare was a military outpost in the time of the Etruscans (about 500 B.C.) because it provides a viewpoint all the way along the valley of the Arno River towards the port city of Livorno (where we were a couple of days ago).  In the times following the Renaissance, a small church was built on the site and it became a place of religious significance, with a special wooden painted crucifix being installed within the church in 1723.  The church was structurally damaged during WWII, and again in 2017 by an accidental explosion!  But a hardy band of local volunteer historians have restored and maintained it since.  And, once you have made your way up the hill on foot, its a lovely place for a rest and a cool drink.
We then went to see the town of Vicopisano and called in, on spec, to a trattoria called DiVizie, run by Nicolo who claims to be named for St Nicholas.  He was true to the spirit of giving because, despite being busy with the night’s pre-dinner preparations, he brought us - completely unbidden - four samples of his delicious tiramisu while we were sampling a bottle of rosè.  He’s obviously a canny operator, because his generosity and friendliness led to us making a booking to go back for dinner tomorrow night.  Reports will follow.
Our day ended with a lovely dinner with Gordo and Mitch at La Nonna Clara in Lucca.  They are moving on tomorrow to Bologna, and it has been a real pleasure to spend some time with them here in Tuscany.  So that was a special thing, and the food was wonderful, but the highlight of the night was when our waiter asked me quietly if I was Italian!  I modestly assured him I was not.  There were people sitting quite close to me who loudly suggested that he was demonstrating the kind of top level sarcasm that Italian waiters save for pretentious twats who think they can speak the language.  To that, I say, Che mucchio di spazzature!

We enjoyed an alfresco lunch in the Piazza dell’Anfiteatro yesterday, which helped a tiny bit to ease the disappointment of The Cats’ loss to Brisbane in the AFL Grand Final.  I fancied some Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe and noticed a side dish of sautéed herbs which I thought I would order with it.  The menu listing for the sautéed herbs, in Italian, is erbato saltate.  So, when the waitress took our orders I trotted mine out in the style of the urbane, Italian speaking traveller that - in my mind - I am.  Turns out; not so urbane.  In my clumsiness I asked for “erbato saltare”, which cracked our waitress up because, she explained between guffaws, saltare means “to jump”.  And this is not the first time!  On another occasion, after the females in our party had been looking at statues of perfect male virility, we had a waiter who smiled wistfully and waggled his index finger at us.  “No, no.  Not pene.  Pene is a very different thing!”

Gordo and Mitch, who had been at the villa with us for a few nights, relocated their camp to within the city walls so they could have a good look at Lucca before moving on.  Their apartment was literally within the walls of the Anfiteatro which once was an elliptical shaped Roman amphitheater that held 10 000 spectators.  Over subsequent centuries the seating and surrounding walls became residences and store-houses, and many are now apartments for tourists, such as the one Gordo and Mitch were staking a claim to.  Theirs was up one flight of stairs, but no ordinary stairs!  It turns out that, centuries ago, nobody realised that the modern tourist might be dragging their overpacked suitcases up these treads.

We also had an interesting encounter when sitting in a laneway enjoying a glass of wine.  In our pre-trip planning, Dory and I had watched about 10 000 YouTube videos about life in this part of Italy, including some on a channel called Authentic Tuscany, hosted by Maria and Lorenzo who live in the nearby village of Vicopisano.  Anyway, whilst we were sipping our wine the very same Maria and Lorenzo wandered past our table as they were showing Lucca to their visiting friends from Florida.

Dory told me once that sunflowers (Helianthus annuus), having spent their entire existence following the daily path of the sun across the summer sky, all die facing towards the east.  Ever since then I have been looking for evidence to dispel that theory.  Its the beginning of autumn here and today we were out and about on the Tuscan valley plain (more about that shortly - this is not ALL about the sadness of sunflowers).  We happened to drive past some commercial crops of sunflowers which had expired and were awaiting harvest.  Without exception, each of them was bowed towards the east.
This filled me with melancholy.  I imagined the poor old sunflower near the end of his natural life, having tracked the summer sun daily from east to west across the sky, summoning up his diminishing strength at the end of one day to return to face the east, only to find that effort was in vain and he would never track the sun again!
Needless to say, my travelling companions mocked my empathy for the sunflower.  When I told them I was going to express my melancholy in the form of poetry, they mocked again, then turned to AI to avoid full consideration of the fate of the poor old Helianthus.  I, on the other hand, confronted the issue, did the hard yards myself and wrote a haiku and a limerick in honour of the sunflower, and I share them with you here:

​Sun’s diurnal path
Traced by sunflower ranks
Who quit to the east.

 … or …

A self aware sunflower called Fred
All his life chased the Sun with his head
With his strength at its least
He turned to the east
And woke up to find himself dead. 
​

Apart from the sad plight of the sunflowers, we had another lovely day.  We found our way to the beautiful hilltop fortress of Montecatini Alto where we wandered the ancient cobbled streets and enjoyed an alfresco lunch, before retracing our steps past the sad ranks of sunflowers and back to our villa.

Our host, Luisa, offered us the opportunity of a tour around points of interest in this region that were not easily accessible by train.  So, with her legendarily patient husband, Damiano, as our driver, and Luisa as our guide, we set off on a Wednesday morning in an 8 seater Renault van to the hills to the north of Lucca.
Our first stop was the village of Borgo a Mozzano where, as it turns out, Luisa used to live and where she married Damiano.  Its a charming little town which was celebrating the harvest season and the approach to Halloween, and the shops were decorated for the season.  
Borgo a Mozzano is on the shores of the Serchio River, which is the third largest river in Italy and takes a bit of getting across.  The Serchio is also directly in the path of the medieval pilgrims’ route from England, via Rome, to the Holy Lands known as the Via Francigena.  So bridges, or at least one of them, became important for pilgrimage and the economic benefits that came along with it. About a thousand years ago work began on a bridge over the Serchio just outside Borgo a Mozzano.  It became known as the Ponte della Meddalena, but these days is better known as the Ponte del Diavolo (Bridge of the Devil) because of a legend associated with its construction.  Whether the work of the Devil or not, its a very impressive structure and a thing of beauty to behold.
We had been keen on seeing Bagni di Lucca (The Baths of Lucca), a town built around some thermal springs known about since the time of the Etruscans and Romans.  While there, we noticed the lovely Ninfa Hotel and were invited in by a staff member to have a look around.  It has a magnificent terrace overlooking the river and the hotel would be a perfect spot for a couple of days to recharge the batteries.
Dory and I had been keen to visit Collodi, the town which claims to be the home of the story of Pinocchio.  These days, the Pinocchio thing is a tacky theme park with cheap souvenirs and expensive entry fees.  But the town has a couple of imposing villas, including one stark looking place occupied by German forces during WWII.
We were refreshed by being whisked off to the hilltop town of Montecarlo amongst olive orchards and vineyards in the hills east of Lucca.  Montecarlo is a beautiful hilltop town, even when you arrive just as the Main Street is blocked off for a funeral.  We stood respectfully while the service ended and the mourners moved away, and the whole scene just added poignancy to our visit.  Montecarlo is lovely.  When you visit this region (as you should), go there!
We ended our day and our tour on the north western side of Lucca, just above the Serchio, at the magnificent Fattoria al Dotto vineyard.  Our host, Giacomo, introduced us to his father, explained that his grandparents were buried in the grounds of the small church on the property, and told us about his development of the olive groves and the vineyard.  “I think my grandparents would be proud of what we have done here.”  We tried six of the lovely wines, along with a small plates menus to match each wine, and were just a little bit gibbery when we left at about 8 o’clock that evening with several bottles of Fattoria al Dotto tucked under our arms.

In the Ufizzi Gallery last week we saw a striking painting by Alonso Berruguete of Salome holding a platter bearing the head of John The Baptist.  It turns out, according to Matthew 14, that the demise of JTB occurred at the time of Salome’s famous dance which has become known as the dance of the seven veils.  
Without even knowing any of that, I had begun to think of this village we are staying in as a place which shrouds its charms in veils.  In our pre-trip planning, and on our arrival, all we could see was a series of narrow, cobbled laneways and plenty of stone buildings of several centuries in age.  There was no obvious commercial centre of the village.  No piazza or obvious community gathering space.  There were no obvious outlets for groceries, meat or any other commodity.  No pubs.  Nor any general store.
What we now know - and I suspect we are only scratching the surface of local knowledge - is that the local bread shop contains the most delicious breads, sweet loaves and pastries, and that they are baked in a commercial bakery hidden in a stone building immediately over the street.  Every morning the bread shop is a hub of community chatter - a community water-cooler, if you like - and the locals love to assist the clumsy non-Italian speakers ordering their bread.  I have become besotted with the Buccelato di Lucca, a raisin and anise flavoured sweet bread which smells like panettone.  Local legend, as explained by the Ladies of the Bakery says: Chi viene a Lucca e non mangia il buccellato è come non ci fosse mai stato (Anyone who comes to Lucca and doesn’t eat buccellato is as if they’ve never been here.)
Roberta, the matriarch of one of the two local butcher shops, produces a smile like a split melon and a welcoming stream of Italian whenever you go into the cunningly disguised shop, which looks like every other doorway in the village except for the red and white insect curtain over the entrance (and, we have discovered, the inscription Macelleria above the door).  I’ve not been in there yet when she has not sliced open a cured sausage and thrust some at me insisting that I try it immediately.
Rosetta, the local grocer has a store in the village so cunningly hidden that I have not found it yet.  But we know Rosetta quite well by now because on Tuesdays and Thursdays she drives her tiny flat tray truck around the village, stops outside our gate and calls out in a sing-song manner to let you know that she is ready to do business.
We have been to four local trattoria, all of which have delightful food and service.  Bar Alma, which is down on the main road near the bus stop, is a very active social hub and the car park is full every morning that we go down there to catch the bus.
Most evenings, there are informal gatherings in the neighbourhood back yards, and the sounds of chatter and laughter carry up to our bedroom window of a night time - mixed with the sounds of Vespas, geese, dogs (particularly Pepe and Brad), roosters and asthmatic donkeys.
Hidden behind the several veils of Colle di Compito is a village which, I suspect, has all the drawbacks of any tiny village anywhere in the world.  But there is no doubt that it is an active and vibrant community and I feel that we have been welcomed into it.

I got myself a Lucca haircut today.  I’m in danger of being like the sax player in The Commitments who got kicked out of the band for getting a “jazz haircut”.
My goodness, Lucca is gorgeous!  We started the day with brunch at Cafe Santa Zita in which I spied the coffee machine to which I aspire.  Then we popped into the World’s Greatest Wine Shop and Cellar (Enoteca Vanni) which is mind blowing.  They have in excess of 50 000 bottles of wine in there and I will include some photos which simply do not do justice to the scope of the cellar.  In the coming weeks we will go back and book a wine tasting.  We spent a lazy hour or so in the Piazza dell’Anfiteatro watching other tourists who were equally watching us.  Finally we hired a biceclette and a couple of pushbikes and did a lap of the walls, before returning to our villa for a quiet evening tasting the spoils of our visit to Enoteca Vanni.
Did I mention that Lucca is gorgeous?

​Quite deservedly, I cop a fair amount of stick about the degree to which I obsess over all kinds of details such as, say, a planned trip to Tuscany for a month.  And even I will admit that I might have given a fair bit of forethought to our arrival in Lucca.  And so, to walk through the Porta San Pietro and find myself inside the walled city - a place I had viewed and imagined from afar for so long - was somewhat overwhelming.  We had time for a short stroll through parts of the city before it was time to collect the rental car we had pre-booked and head to our villa in the hills nearby.  But we will be returning to the inside of the walls for much more exploration in coming weeks.
I have never driven a left hand drive car before, and never driven in Europe.  So our first few miles in the rented Ford Kuga included a few moments of raised eyebrows and tightened grip as my passengers wondered about the wisdom of getting into the car with me, and I struggled to come to terms with the fact that there was a whole lot of car on my right hand side which had never been there before!  Anyway, we made it to a small supermarket (a chain called Conad, even as much as Jeannie wanted to name if after an organ of reproduction) and purchased some supplies, before negotiating ever narrowing roads up to the tiny village of Colle di Compito where we will be living for the next month.
​The villa and the village are an absolute delight.  In addition to a beautifully appointed full kitchen in the main house, the villa also has a separate wood-fired kitchen for the making of bread and pizza.  The village is even more delightful, and we had a lovely moment yesterday when we opened the gate to the street to find the local mobile green grocer, Rosella, outside the gate with a huge selection of high quality fruit and veg.  As a result of that, and a visit to the local bakery and the local butcher, dinner last night was Panzanella (bread salad) for primo (first course), followed by sausages with peach, prosciutto and mozzarella salad for secondo (second course).
We’ve had some quite heavy rain over the last couple of days, but that did not stop me having a glass of Chianti Classico and a long soak in the jacuzzi.  
Rob Reid is trundling his way towards us as I tap out this post.  He should be with us for dinner tonight which will be at a local trattoria.
Also, thousands of miles away, Nika Bennett is enjoying a personal milestone and we are thinking of her.
Happy days.