Three for the Road

Tags

countryside, family travel, Italy, road trip, San Gimignano, Siena, Tuscany, Volterra

There have been many contenders, but currently perched untouchably atop the podium of road trip competitors is Tuscany. I consider myself a bit of a driving tour connoisseur, having motored through almost every state in the mainland U.S. and all but a few countries in western, central, and eastern Europe. My top criteria for road trip nirvana are all met in Tuscany: smaller roads, little traffic, eye-popping vistas around every corner, and one after another enchanting hill town just often enough to get out and stretch the legs.

Our own little corner of the Tuscan countryside lies just outside the small town of Casole d’Elsa; like many other communities in the area, it’s a medieval hamlet up on a hill with a stone fort, narrow winding streets, and a variety of small shops, eateries, public buildings, and homes.

We can walk there from our pastoral lodging … or not. The Tuscan landscape encourages relaxation and just being, and we spend plenty of time with a bottle of wine, a few snacks, and a view of layered hills covered in spring flowers.

When we do stir, we have a panoply of other towns to visit, and first up is Volterra. A walled city of Etruscan origin, Volterra retains its city gates, an acropolis, and the foundations of ancient temples from that era, as well as the usual Roman ruins. We visit right after breakfast and ascribe our unanimous election of Volterra as our #1 hill town, in part, to that fact. There are few crowds, the town is spotlessly clean and well-cared for, and the views from the main piazza are swoon-worthy. We very much get the sense that the town belongs to its residents; while catering to tourists through shopping (mainly alabaster, the city’s chief product) and eating venues, Volterra feels very “real” and unperturbed by the infusion of visitors.

We leave Volterra by mid-morning for San Gimignano, a town we have very high hopes for given its uniqueness as the setting of multiple high towers that erupt from the rolling Tuscan knolls. Our anticipation builds as we pass a whimsical red sculpture encircling a view of the hills and, later, get a sneak peek at the walled town and its pillars from afar.

As we approach the triple-walled city (also from Etruscan times), we get our first inkling that this is no Volterra. We start to see large tour buses winding up the last few kilometers to town. We pass crowded parking lots and wonder why people are parking so far away. We inch closer in order to drop at least my parents at one of the main gates but fear we may never find them again amid the growing hordes of visitors.

San Gimignano has eight gates, a fact that will soon play a role in our small family group getting separated from each other. We end up parking in one of the lots we had just pooh-poohed and allow son T to walk into town while my parents and I wait for a shuttle bus. Big mistake. T enters the city at a different gate than the one we are dropped at, and we all, in our separate parts of this tourist madhouse of a town, wonder how this will all play out with no means of communication.

The two groups decide on their plans: our group of three takes the easy route and plops right down at a table near the main city gate and orders lunch. Group 2, the impatient T, ponders. He stays put for fifteen minutes at his gate, wanders nearby for another quarter hour, has a dawning of comprehension about the relative immobility of Group 1, then hightails it through the city to what he guesses is the main entrance. He is correct, and he finally approaches, panting and hot, just as lunch arrives. Disaster averted, but we’ve had an unlucky start in the Manhattan of medieval Tuscany.

Unlike its larger neighbor, Volterra, San Gimignano actually feels much busier and more populous. It is later in the day, and even the sleepy-headed tourists are up and out now, so part of the bigger feel here is likely due to the visiting crowds. Nevertheless, the architectural uniqueness adds to the big-city impression. From about 1200 AD on, San Gimignano became the site of two centuries’ worth of competition between its wealthiest families, with these rivals striving to build ever taller tower houses. By the end of the Medieval period, there were some 72 of these stone skyscrapers, and 14 of them remain today.

As we leave town after a long and crowded stroll, we question whether we should try to squeeze in another city visit today. Oh, hell … my parents are only in their mid-eighties; we might as well make them walk another few hours today! But really, there is no arm-twisting involved, and we set off for the largest place of the day: Siena.

As we enter the town, the streets are not crowded, and the tourists seem to have left for the day. We easily find a parking garage that says “Cathedral Parking.” Great luck – the church is, in fact, our main target this afternoon! We begin to walk in the direction of a few other people and marvel at our good fortune to be here at such a quiet, peaceful time.

Until we realize there really should be more people. And that the 5-minute walk Google maps has over-confidently promised us has now been going on for more like 12-15. We blame it on my mom and her slow-but-steady pace. Like many mothers, she is regularly accused of dallying, too much window shopping, not paying attention to signs, and anything else delaying progress, but she is actually not at fault today. No, it appears we have simply parked at the very far end of the city, and as we wend our way closer, other visitors do materialize, and we finally find ourselves in the large square in front of Siena’s imposing black-and-white striped cathedral.

We are too tired to really enjoy it. My dad finds it garish, and the rest of us think it’s okay. We are impressed with the stacking of the black and white marble to heights that seem unimaginable in the days it was built, and we very much like the chairs that are available for us to sit on. After a few minutes of taking in the now-familiar Catholic furnishings, we gather the energy (and my worried wits) to go back down (the slippery marble stairs with no handrail) into the square for another short rest before making the lengthy walk back to the car.

It’s been an exhausting day, but we make the short drive home and rally with a Tuscan toast. A plate of cheeses and breads, a bottle of very local red (right from the property), and a Vernaccia from San Gimignano are appropriate refreshments for the early evening, and we sit on our patio overlooking the hills we’ve driven all day. Tomorrow is another day in paradise, and we have no agenda. Either way –  eventful or unhurried – we all find Tuscany to be the star of the trip.

Rome Two Ways

Tags

ancient, archaeology, family travel, Italy, Roman Empire, Rome

I got a double dose of Rome last month in more than one way. In round one, with my parents, I got in three days of the city as a repository of antiquities, with a guide at all the hot spots.

In a return a week later with my son, we roamed the modern-day capital on our own, certainly seeing plenty of tourist sites for his first-time visit, but spending more of our time just walking, sitting in random cafes, and poking around less frequented quarters of the city.

The learner in me always appreciates a guided tour, and we covered a huge amount of ground in the early days, working our way through the centuries, from deeply BC to the relatively modern medieval period and beyond. I’m not much of a history buff, but the depth and breadth of the past’s footprint here is formidable, and its presence in a large, vibrant city is both anomalous and perfectly fitting.

From the Colosseum’s sheer size and gory records to the feats of engineering at the Pantheon, from the somewhat underwhelming Spanish Steps to the overwhelming, over-the-top Trevi fountain, we are in the grip of the city’s history even as we delight in its modern sophistication.

Whether you’re officially there for the ruins or not, Rome will show them to you. As T and I wander the city later in search of mundane, contemporary places, we stumble onto the remains of Trajan’s column and forum, nestled up against a trendy wine bar.

Every time we return to our hotel, we casually glance at another cat-infested field of columns, completely unaware that the Largo di Torre Argentino area is one of the oldest vestiges of the early city.

We learn to look for ancient outlines, for example, in the Piazza Navona, whose shape mirrors that of the circa 80 AD stadium serving as the current square’s foundation, and even in parking lots whose forms follow the contours of the small amphitheaters that lie below them. Like Athens, Rome is a ramble in and out of periods of time separated by millennia.

In between gulps of history, we stuff our bellies with a different kind of sustenance: Roman-style pizza and enough caprese salads to last … well, at least the rest of the summer. We cool off with fresh fruit at Campo de Fiori and melting gelato in the twisty little streets of Trastevere. A non-pasta eater at home, I fall madly in love with cacio e pepe, eating it four out of seven nights in Rome. Even this basic, age-old dish conjures up the Roman Empire, intertwining ancient history and modern life once again.

During both stays, we relish the natural parts of the scenery as much as the buildings in the fair late spring weeks. We crane our heads upward, admiring the mother of all wisteria vines cascading down a house in the Ludovisi neighborhood, as well as the ubiquitous Mediterranean pines that cover the city in a haphazard canopy of broccoli-esque crowns.

We stoop to regard the much daintier pink and white flowers tumbling down the Spanish steps.

A peek off a Vatican balcony offers a refreshing view of simple morning shade amid all the papal pomp, and Palatine Hill offers a soft, green diversion from the sternly marbled Forum down below.

From introduction to finale, Rome repeatedly shows us her two faces – the archeological smorgasbord and the thriving modern capital. As we depart the city by taxi early our final day, tired and preoccupied with upcoming travel details, the Colosseum suddenly appears against the post-dawn sky. We’ve already seen every inch of it inside and out with our official tickets, but as the ordinary morning sunshine illuminates the arched openings in an extraordinary way, we feel full force the inseparable connection between past and present that Rome embodies.

 

An Impressive Pair

Tags

Florence, intergenerational trip, Italy, parents, Rome, Tuscany, unlikely, Venice

I left for Italy brokenhearted, barely more than a day after saying a sooner-than-expected goodbye to my home and travel companion of the last 14.5 years – my dear, sweet pup. After nearly three decades, I was abruptly launched into a new era of life and travel, a time in which I suddenly had no living creature dependent on me for life. I imagine this will feel liberating someday; at the start of my trip, it felt unmooring at best.

Having lost one caretaker role, though, I embraced an unlikely one for the next few weeks – the balancing act of playing travel coordinator for two separated generations: my eighty-something parents in the first week, and my millennial son who jumped into the mix partway through. All three are bright, active, capable, interesting, and interested people, but I still felt the burden of getting them all from place to place and making sure everyone was having a good time. Old habits die hard, and early on, I struggled to relax into the first trip in years where there was nothing at home to fret about. (My husband was home alone, but he handles that with aplomb!)

Despite my apparent need to worry about something or someone at all times, my first charges were pretty damn impressive. From the very outset, I watched my 85- and 86-year-old parents navigate Rome’s irregular cobblestone streets for hours, starting a few minutes after we had landed from an overnight flight and stashed our bags at our hotel’s reception. My dad has two artificial knees, and my mom has one of those plus a brand-new pacemaker, yet neither blinked an eye at the idea of ascending and descending the Spanish Steps with no hand rails, walking uphill and downhill and occasionally in circles in search of lunch and dinner spots, or staying up until it was really time for bed to avoid jet lag the next day.

Both popped up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed the following mornings for hours of sightseeing – walking the full circumference of both levels of the Colosseum, pressing through a crush of humanity at the Trevi Fountain, ambling through the Pantheon and Campo de Fiori, and doing the “simple” things like scouting out two meals a day on our own. A three-hour tour of the Vatican, all on their feet, was followed by a never-ending walk to lunch in the hot sun. In Florence, they toured the gigantic Uffizi all morning and still had the wherewithal to walk to and then fire intelligent questions at our guide at the Accademia Gallery that afternoon.

In spite of my constant fears of a fall, they stepped safely onto the Grand Canal water bus to the Piazza San Marco in Venice, clambered onto the Frecciarossa train, and repeatedly climbed a steep flight of stairs to our Florence apartment (which mom could not stop calling “the Airbub,” thinking that little “n” was a “u”), all the while maintaining a level of good cheer that was extraordinary. By the end, I know they were tired, but they chugged on until the very last minute when we put them into a cab in Venice.

They drank wine every night, sampled new foods, attempted a little Italian, unpacked and repacked suitcases, adjusted to an ever-changing lineup of new beds, helped navigate on a succession of poorly-signposted routes, caught early morning cabs and trains, peed in iffy gas station restrooms, wandered through three Tuscan hill towns in one very full day, shopped in crowded Florence (well, OK, that was mostly just mom), and got lost and then figured it out on their own on the one afternoon I let them out of my sight.

There were naturally some frustrating moments; no matter how adept these octogenarians may be, they simply cannot cover as much ground in a day as a twenty-something guy and his hiker mom can (and that’s OK). They got a little cocky, wanting to manhandle their own bags on slippery stone stairs (not gonna happen), and they got up ridiculously early to get ready for each day (sorry, guys, you know how I value my sleep). But there was so much fun, and plenty of hilarity, too: on our final night together, finishing off the last bottle of wine before they flew home alone, my mother turned to her grandson and said, “In three minutes, can you explain the internet to me?”

We were an unlikely group, but the trip was a resounding success, thanks in no small part to the gumption of my amazing parents. (Don’t worry, T – you will be praised in future posts!). I’m happy to have inherited at least some of their zest for life and can only hope to maintain it until I am their age and beyond.

 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (Cinque) Terre

Tags

Cinque Terre, day hikes, hiking, Italy, Liguria, numbers

Day hikes are the appetizers and desserts of trekking aficionados. When I can’t get away for a week or more, the next best thing is a jaunt that still requires a backpack and provisions, a destination, and some great scenery. And the Cinque Terre, literally ‘Five Lands,’ is the perfect place to spend a day on foot and rack up some numbers, traversing the five small towns that form a colorful string along the rugged Ligurian coast of western Italy. We did just that to top off our Tour du Mont Blanc circuit hike one summer.

Uno: We based ourselves and started our walk in the busiest and northernmost of the Cinque Terre towns – Monterosso al Mare. Here there are many accommodations, restaurants, and even a beach, all set in irregular stone streets that surround the seashore and harbor. The town is famous for pesto, anchovies, and lemons, and we loaded up on pizza, pasta, and limoncello as a well-earned reward for our long Alpine hike and, in my case, the rigors of driving a little stick-shift car on the outrageously steep and twisted roads into the region.

Due: After a hearty breakfast the next day, we set off for town number two: Vernazza. This fishing village is the most picturesque of the group, and we were very lucky to get a beautiful approach shot before a morning rain shower swept us into the harbor and onto the main plaza. Fishing boats bobbed in the curved waterfront (and rested in the village streets), an old castle loomed in the background, pastel-colored buildings haphazardly climbed the hills, and villagers and tourists alike crammed under the few awnings and overhangs in the piazza for protection from the short-lived squall. With the passing of the mini-tempest, the old men went back to untangling their fishing lines, the adolescent boys to ogling the scantily-clad young female visitors, and we to our hike.

Tre: We climbed out of Vernazza on a series of winding stairs and terraces, feeling almost voyeuristic as we passed private patios and stereotypical lines of laundry dangling off skinny houses.

We were now on our way to Corniglia, the only one of the five towns not directly on the water. Perched high on a rocky hill and surrounded by vineyards, Corniglia was the quietest of the villages, and we decided to stop here for a relaxing lunch amid flowering bushes and old stone walls.

These two first sections were the toughest – close to 4 miles overall of steep hills up and down – and we hit the highest point of the day on the way into Corniglia.

Quattro: The smallest enclave, Manarola, was the fourth stop, following a relatively flat and easy route of just over a mile after lunch. Like its big sister, Vernazza, it is a jumble of vibrant facades that spill down the hill into the harbor. It is bright and busy, filled with shops and boats and locals, but has a smaller, more relaxed ambiance – the ideal time and place for an ice cream stop and whiling away some time just people-watching.

Cinque: By late afternoon, we had arrived in Riomaggiore on a cliff-side trail, dubbed Lovers Lane, that overlooked the brilliantly-blue sea.

Farthest to the south and east, Riomaggiore is the largest town of the five and feels more accessible to the outside world than the other villages. Here, those same painted buildings form a V around one final scenic harbor, and the railroad provides an easy return to Monterosso, just in time for more limoncello and pizza.

More Numbers: The Sentiero Azzurro, the Cinque Terre’s most popular walking trail, covers about 7 miles overall and can be walked in either direction. Most people walk south to north, starting flat and easy, but we did it backwards. In recent years, the path has been closed in some sections; heavy rains have washed out parts of the route and rock slides have blocked the path in and out of Corniglia. In addition, the Italian government is limiting the number of hikers to 1.5 million this season (a high of 2.5 million trekked the trail last year) to protect the area, so I’m glad we got there when we did!

Walking in Circles

Tags

Alps, circuit hikes, France, Italy, Switzerland, Tour du Mont Blanc

Readers of One Foot Out the Door have undoubtedly noticed that many of my posts describe hiking adventures, which makes perfect sense given my preference for travel on my own two feet. But there’s a certain kind of walk that I love even more than others: the circuit trek.

Although a number of my favorite hikes have been out-and-backs or one-ways, there’s something about a circular hike that feels more complete and satisfying. Of course, the main benefit of a circumnavigation is that you don’t have to retrace your steps and see the same scenery twice. For me, the biggest draws of these loop hikes are that they are usually quite long, cover a variety of terrain, reach areas that vehicles and beasts of burden cannot, and sometimes even cross borders.

Two of my favorite circuit treks have been the Tour du Mont Blanc in France, Switzerland, and Italy, and the Paine Circuit in Chilean Patagonia. Today let me tell you a little about the former, or the TMB as it is sometimes known. Stay tuned for the “O” tomorrow!

The Tour du Mont Blanc

Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in western Europe and the Alps, and circling it takes hikers through three countries, a variety of landscapes and climates, and a delicious array of cuisines. Unlike more remote treks like the Paine Circuit, the TMB passes through more developed and populated areas, at least overnight, so it is possible to clump around all day out in nature and still sit down to a nice glass of wine and a hearty dinner most nights. There are also camping options, as well as mountain huts along the way.

Most treks start in Chamonix, a classic (and charming) Savoyard town at the base of Mont Blanc, and take anywhere from seven to about ten days to complete. To start, trekkers can drive or walk to Les Houches, passing under the Aiguilles Rouges, where there are magnificent views of the glaciers clinging to the north face of Mont Blanc, followed by a nice slow traverse and descent to the town. Leaving this small ski resort village at the end of the Chamonix valley, the next day’s hike goes fairly relentlessly uphill all morning (a pattern repeated almost daily), passes the Col de Voza, ambles through some buggy groves and woods, and ends with a climb late in the day to the town of Les Contamines.

A brief but interesting diversion outside of town the next day is Notre Dame de la Gorge, a small church in a valley outside of Les Contamines-Montjoie. The plain, white facade belies a surprising Baroque interior, and the tiny church’s setting near the beginning of the trail draws locals and trekkers alike. From here, the trail leads steeply uphill on an old Roman road; the ascent continues virtually unstopped to a first pass today, the Col de Bonhomme. Even in summer, it can be quite snowy and chilly here, but if you trudge on for another 15 minutes, there is a gorgeous meadow of wildflowers surrounded by snow-covered, pointy peaks in every direction, a rushing waterfall, and a glacial, greenish-blue lake in the distance. If you are lucky, you may spy some ibex clinging to the mountainsides here or a marmot or two darting amongst the rocks.

After this perfect picnic spot, hikers press on to a second pass at Croix de Bonhomme at 8100’; here there is a cozy mountain hut here for drinks and cake before descending to Les Chapieux for the night. Today’s hike of 4200’ up and 3000’ down is the longest day of walking overall on the circuit. But at least you’re in France, where dinner might be stewed meats, creamy polenta, bread, a local red vin de Savoie, and a tarte for dessert.

A pleasant stop the next day is a small farm and factory that makes Beaufort cheese, a local specialty made from the milk of Tarine cattle, the rich brown cows with deep black eyes that roam the high pastures in the Alps. (Be sure to buy a hunk for a snack later today.)

From the farm, the trail advances solidly uphill for hours to a pass at Col de la Seigne at 8245’ where the wind whips gustily enough at the marker between France and Italy to blow hikers into the next country and on down the path past the Rifugio Elisabetta to the outskirts of Courmayeur for an evening of pasta and limoncello (and grappa and green-apple vodka … ).

Depending on the time and energy available, hikers can make a one- or two-day trek to La Fouly and Champex from here. Either option ultimately leads to the Grand Col de Ferret at 8300’ and may include some exhilarating crossings of some hard, slick snowfields and a view of the impressive Glacier de Pre-de-Bar with Mont Dolent above (where France, Switzerland, and Italy all meet). At the Col de Ferret, trekkers pass from Italy to Switzerland and can choose a less-traveled route toward the Petit Col de Ferret and “ski” down through multiple long snowfields.

Walking directly out of Champex the next day, it is easy to catch the Bovine Route, essentially an old cow path that travels through the woods and crosses several wide streams on big boulders. If you love rock hopping and scrambling uphill, you will enjoy this morning’s hike even though the pitch is sometimes severe and the rocks can be slippery with mud or manure. Later, a relaxing traverse through a field with panoramic views and the happy sound of cowbells opens up to a hut with picnic tables and a spectacular lookout over the Rhone Valley and the town of Martigny. A final downhill stretch deposits walkers at Col de la Forclaz.

From here, hikers can again make a one- or two-day choice to get back to Chamonix. Both eventually pass by Les Cheserys, where an idyllic side trail leads to Lac Blanc. (There is also a long traverse to the cable car down to Chamonix if laundry and a hot shower call more convincingly than another mountain hut and lake.)
The little chalet high on the mountain is worth the detour, and there is a bit of adventure in climbing some thin metal ladders bolted into a vertical rock face and navigating a series of wooden slats nailed into the rocks. There are rewards at the top as well: Lac Blanc itself, an eerie, pearly gray-blue pool and the adorable Refuge du Lac Blanc which serves hot chocolate, cake, and coffee.

Leaving this little paradise, the circuit comes to an end with the final trek or cable car ride down to Chamonix. The tour du Mont Blanc generally covers about 10-12 miles a day, with ascents and descents of several thousand feet each day, over the course of some 105 miles overall.

 

 

Friday Photos: Is it Summer Yet?

Tags

Australia, Boston, Cinque Terre, Croatia, Door County, Glacier National Park, Greece, Ireland, Italy, Santorini, summer

It’s only November, and already a deep chill has settled into my bones. A dose of summer memories from this country and others seems like just the ticket today. Let’s pretend we’re warm …

Door County, Wisconsin

Dublin, Ireland

Buza Bar, Dubrovnik, Croatia

Farmers Market, Boston, Massachusetts

Adare, Ireland

Gruz Harbor, Dubrovnik, Croatia

Vernazza, Cinque Terre, Italy

Glacier National Park, Montana

Vernazza, Cinque Terre, Italy

Mykonos, Greece

Late summer, North Dakota plains

Christmas Day lorakeets in Wahroonga, Australia