Author: sandralmoriartygmailcom

The train from Florence to San Miniato takes forty minutes and covers twenty miles in relative comfort, if not style. The train is utilitarian, boxy and plain with plastic and pleather seats, graffiti on some of the windows, but not all. And relatively efficient conductors who take a photo of your ticket’s QR code with a small iPad.

The station at San Miniato is also utilitarian, with one track heading toward Pisa and the other back to Florence. When the train pulls away, you are pretty much alone with your luggage, which, in our case, was two big suitcases and daypacks. The station is unstaffed, and it is not immediately clear how you get from the station to your hotel, which is only a little over two miles away, but straight uphill along a narrow, twisting road.

There is no taxi stand at San Miniato station. So we pulled up Uber on our phone. And learned that there are no Ubers available in our area. So we walked over to the bus stop, where we eventually deciphered that there is no bus, since it is Sunday.

But resourceful travelers that we are, we tried calling a taxi service we found on Google maps, but couldn’t figure out the phone number. Was it +39 and then the number? Or is there some other code to use our American cell phones on Italian cell lines?

Finally, we clicked on a phone number link for our hotel — the Hotel Miravalle — and asked if they could find us a ride.

Which they did.

We checked in and went to the local beer store, where we bought a bottle of Italian beer and waited for a table at a tiny little family restaurant called Osteria l’Upupa, where we enjoyed a large lunch of spinach and cheese ravioli, served with a lovely piece of bacon, fried and plopped on right on top, and sliced steaks for two.

Sandy had steak with shaved truffles and I had steak with rosemary. We both had French fried potatoes and wine.

Near the end of our meal, I found my way to the bathroom, where I washed my hands, after doing my business, in a unique and hands-free way.

Full and satisfied, with very clean hands, we went back to our room for a short nap on a short bed, then reemerged for the evening to walk around town and take in the views of the Tuscan countryside.

Tomorrow we start walking in those hills, so we came back to the room early — early by Italian standards; it was 9:00pm — and sorted out our day packs and went to bed.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny and we spent the day exploring Florence. Our first stop: the Duomo, the Florence Cathedral built between 1296 and 1436. A beautiful, massive structure with a marble facade.

We were not the only tourists teeming around the courtyard, unfortunately, and the line to get in stretched to what looked like an hour or so. So we decided to content ourselves with a walk around the outside and a visit to the Basilica di Santa Croce.

Also an impressive structure, with towering ceilings and an ornate sanctuary. Many famous Italians are buried in Santa Croce or have monuments there, including Machiavelli, Galileo, and Dante.

The main church building is connected to a series of smaller buildings that form a private, sunny courtyard, where we enjoyed some peace before rejoining the crowds in the street.

Lunch at Sandy’s favorite bistro, Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco, followed our time at the church.

And then it was back to the room for a little siesta. Which was nicely interrupted by a parade down the street outside our window.

Parade.

I thought the parade was to commemorate our being in the city — national Sandy and Tom Day, or something like that. But the receptionist at the hotel told us it’s part of the Calcio Storico Fiorentino, an annual tournament for a sport that combines soccer, rugby, and wrestling into what looks like a sweaty, dirty game played in front of the Santa Croce church.

Each one of Florence’s historical neighborhoods has a team in the tournament, and the parade we saw was for one of the teams.

We got up and went back out at 5:00pm. We wandered across the river to the Piazzale Michelangelo — where they were setting up for what looked like a pizza and music festival, and where Aperol Spritzes could be had, to go, in paper cups — and found some quiet steps at the Basilica di San Miniato, where we enjoyed a glass of wine and expansive views over the city.

Dinner was pizza on the same plaza as where we ate last night, filled with young Italians and tourists out for the evening. Delicious, and entertaining people watching as well.

The longest leg of our trip this summer, by far, is the 5,800 miles from San Francisco to London, with 750 more miles from London onto Florence. The flight was good, though we were about 45 minutes late leaving San Francisco.

And then when we landed in London, we had to trek across the city from Heathrow to London City airport, where our connecting flight to Italy departed in the early afternoon. We landed at Heathrow, then took the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station, where we transferred to the Elizabeth line for a ride out to Custom House and a short Uber ride to the airport (finally).

We arrived one hour before our flight, checked our bags and caught our breath for a couple minutes before it was time to board.

Two hours later, we landed in Florence, tired but happy we actually made it. Changing airports stinks, and changing on a short timetable stinks even more.

But then we were in Florence, home of the Medicis and cradle of the Renaissance. We went for a walk along the river and ate dinner outside in a piazza full of young Italians enjoying their Friday night out.

The Arno River at sunset.

The picture says it all.

We have seats that face each other, so I can fly backwards and watch Sandy as she watches TV.

And eat two lovely meals during our 10 hour flight to London.

I posted my official “Out of Office” notice on my email today. It reads, in part, “I am out of the office, with limited access to email, until Monday, June 16. I will respond to your message when I get back.”

I like that phrase “with limited access to email” because it politely lowers expectations for a quick response. I will have perfectly fine access to email — I’m going to Italy, after all — and I will respond to all friends and family in a timely manner (probably more timely than when I’m at work).

I guess what I should say is, “I am out of the office with pretty good access to email, but I might choose to ignore yours. Because I can.”

Happy feet are the key to a good hike, especially a long, multi-day hike through the Tuscan countryside.

That’s why I’m bringing three pairs of giant, size 13 shoes with me, all Merrells. There’s the waterproof hikers, which I suspect will be my main shoes. There’s the trail runners, which I suspect will be my easy day shoes.

And there’s my fabulous Jungle Moc slip-ons, which I will wear for fancy dress occasions. Sandy loves them and thinks they are “molto alla moda,” as they say in Italian.

We are also bringing fancy wool socks, which are the other necessity for happy feet. Bomba ankle high socks, in multiple colors. When people see us wearing them with shorts, they will say, “Siete ovviamente americani.”

And they will be correct.

We will be walking the Via Francigena in Italy, about 225 miles from San Miniato — just outside of Florence — to Rome.

We leave Thursday, fly to London, change airports, and fly on to Florence. We’ve been training by eating extra pasta and pizza, and drinking red wine.

We’ve been walking, too. A couple miles most days.