Category: Uncategorized

Our farm stay is about 8 km out of the tiny hilltop town of Locorotondo. Armed with directions to the free parking, we have headed up there for a part of every day. There really is nothing like wandering, “lost” in the tiny car-free (except for the occasional local tiny car) lanes and thinking about people having wandered these same lanes for centuries.

Some lead to dead ends and stairways to homes and others lead you around in circles until you end up where you started out. It is so charming and reminds us a lot of our stay in Seville, Spain. Except there aren’t armies of joints of smoked Jamon hanging from every ceiling. Here is a good shot of Locorotondo that I got (according to Don, by putting him in a life-threatening situation with the car) from the road:

Martina Franca was our destination the following day and the highlight of our day was actually lunch. The hilltop town is very cute, don’t get me wrong, but our conversation with the Italian mother and daughter at the next table really made our day. But first – here’s the church:

We got chatting because Don and I thought it was hilarious that there were faux fur throws on all the chairs already! It was hot! So I made Don pose for this pic to show you:

The ladies were laughing along with us, but then the Mama indicated her scarf/shawl and said in Italian, “it’s always cold in Martina Franca”, which her daughter translated for us. I wanted to say in Italian that it was hot, but I always get “caldo” and “fredo” mixed up, so it takes to long to think it through to actually say it. So the daughter translated for me that for us, it seemed very warm.

Of course the wanted to know where we were from – “ahhhh . . . Canada”. Canadians are quite popular here, I think. So our waitress came by at the same time and told them I understood some Italian (maybe because I knew the difference between “lasagna classics o lasagna vegeteriana”, so I recited my few Italian words: perfavore (please), Grazie (thank you), prego (you’re welcome), mi dispiace (sorry!) and dove il bagno (where is the bathroom?). To which they all clapped and said that was everything I needed to know.

Here is a photo from the cover of the menu – I couldn’t resist . . .but now that I look at it a little closer, I am thinking it might be questionable – probably a reference to some movie but . . . that’s the papa, right?

I had the orecchiette – a local pasta that looks like little ears

And while we were sitting having our lovely lunch and a bottle of wine, this tour passed in front of us. Many longing glances were sent our way (mostly by the men). What a wonderful reaffirmation of travelling on our own . . . for as long as we can.

But there is a reason everyone is here – even in this shoulder season – and that is because these hill top towns are just so gorgeous.

Don had seen a little winery/picnic thing that he wanted to check out in Locorotondo, so later on in the afternoon we headed there. The wine was the first bottle we have tasted that was not good, but the experience was pretty sweet.

I remember hearing that Ostuni was a popular town to visit in the area (maybe from Rick Steves), so we headed there today. It’s bigger and more popular and Don almost killed us by going the wrong way down a one way lane, so it’s not really one of my favourites. But here are a few pics:

We have one more full day here until we move to the coastal town of Otranto, and we have booked a hands-on (hopefully) tour of a local fresh mozzarella making dairy farm. This should be one for the books, so stay tuned for tomorrow’s blog – it should be interesting!

A long time ago (Shannon – when was your trip?) a friend posted a photo of herself and her husband in front of a trullo house in a region of Italy that I had never heard of, called Puglia. Ever since then, I have had it in my mind that Don and I had to visit that area . . . Some day. Well, that day has finally come.

Here we are in trulli country. And it is magical. As we drove from Matera (which once was a part of Puglia, but now is in Basilicata), we started to see these amazing little conical structures in the fields – once used by shepherds, or for storage or animals or even as living quarters. Here is the first one we saw, right in the middle of a field:

From then on, they were dotted all along our route to our next home away from home:

Needless to say, the place is amazing. Masseria Serralta is located just a few kilometres away from the hilltop town of Locorotondo – just far enough to feel like you are in the countryside. Although our landlady here could take a few pages out of Lorenza’s book (she actually chastised us for taking a couple of plates, cutlery and a small bowl out of her kitchen when our information book specifically said “if you use the kitchen, make sure you clean up after yourselves”). Turns out that our information book was actually supposed to be in the room with a kitchenette and she meant to remind people to clean their own dishes, but we didn’t know that. She made a huge and uncomfortable point that the things in the kitchen were “her stuff” and she didn’t want people touching “her stuff”. Later she realized that we had the wrong information book in our room, but there was no apology. Anyway – Don has forgiven her. I think she must be on the spectrum. If she is, I forgive her too. If she isn’t . . . I haven’t quite.

We had heard that Alberobello – a village of trulli houses – was very popular and that we should go early in the day to avoid total chaos on the tiny streets. We didn’t get there super early, but early enough to easily find parking, so that made Don happy. The symbols on the roofs are either religious, zodiac or luck – take your pick.

Octopus burger anyone?

On the other (obviously less visited) side of the main street from the trulli there are churches and regular shops – I wanted a photo of these amazing tomatoes, but three girls were in my way and Don was still walking, so I took it anyway.

After a swim, a snack and a nap back in our little trullo, we headed up to our hilltop town of Locorotondo. The old town is very picturesque, with a maze of narrow, winding lanes through whitewashed buildings.

The churches here dress their statues in magnificent robes and clothes:

It looks like I have used up my allotted blog space for today – stay tuned for more Locorotondo tomorrow as well as a good look at Martina Franca.

One thing I can definitely say after a day jam packed with stunning visuals and a head full of stories and facts, is that one day in Matera is definitely not enough! If you go (and you must), you should plan on three or four days to explore and take in all there is to see here.

As advised by several Italians before we arrived in Matera, we booked a half day private walking tour. Our guide was Cosimo Ronanone, a man whose family has lived here for generations and who grew up playing in the abandoned caves before the restoration began.

Matera is a UNESCO World Heritage site and is considered one of the oldest cities in the world as well as the oldest where there has been continuity of life.

Cosimo told us all about the poverty in the caves and how people didn’t live there when the times were good – in those times they were used for storage of wine or animals. However, over the centuries, they have been inhabited by the very poor and runaway slaves from the various regimes. With no running water, electricity or sewers and because of the fact that caves by nature are damp and dark, there was a high death rate and tuberculosis was rampant. The families lived with their livestock, and the livestock and a small fireplace kept them warm.

At some point, the government felt that this area was a national disgrace, and over twenty years, build a “new” side of Matera and moved the residents to buildings in that area. For a long time afterwards, the caves were abandoned and suffered decline and destruction until the 1980s, when reconstruction and restoration began. There are still building and a large section that are being worked on, but the restored area, containing museums, churches, small B&B’s, restaurants, homes and shops is really beautiful. For this, Cosimo thanks the tourists who have discovered the area (a double edged sword of course) and infused it with the much needed funds to preserve this magical place.

We were lucky enough to see a wedding – well not the church part – but the outside part – oh the fashions! – oh the bride!

How fun is that!?!

Here is our guide with Don:

We met this young carver as we toured the old part of Matera. He is a friend of Cosimo’s and insisted that I put a magnet on the back of one of his carvings out of the rock. Of course I dropped the first magnet and made a hash out of the second one but he was very good natured about it. Here he is showing off a carving he has made of the caves.

Interestingly, the caves are behind and deep below the more recently added facades. They look like buildings on the outside, but can go down as many as five levels of cave inside.

By the time our tour was over, we were ready for a drink and headed to our little bar with the best view in the city for a much needed Aperol spritz (and a beer).

But the white wine really was the start of the show:

Tomorrow we are off to see the trulli houses of Alberobello before heading to our farm stay in Locorotondo. That’s if we can find our way out of the maze of medieval streets between us as the open road. We’ll see.

But first, a last few shots of some of our favourite people here:

But, one last breakfast at our B&B and we were off again. Because our original flights from Florence to Bari had been cancelled, we had to choose the only other available option, which got us there at 6:30pm (theoretically) instead of 2:30. Not only did this mean that we would spend 5 hours sitting in Florence airport, because the car still had to be back by 10:30 am, but also that we had to drive to this remote location in the dark, as sunset now is at about 7:30.

Not to mention that the French airports were suffering from a one day (hopefully) job action, resulting in the cancellation of all flights to France and many other destinations due to the ripple effect. So it was chaos at the airport. Although I did get this one really great photo of myself. Looks like the pasta and limoncello diet is working!

We literally spent an 11 hour day to fly 2 hours and drive for 1. I did manage to save us a bunch of time at the rental car office though. Partly by hoofing it there quickly from our flight and party because I learned at the last rental that you have to take a numbered ticket and not count on your place in line. After I got ours, of course I shared this information with the others (sheepish smiley face emoji). Unfortunately, by the time we got to our car, it was almost 8 pm already and the reception to our little cave room closes at 8.

So I called her. No worries, she said, I will send you the pin code to your cave (!) and a video of how to get to the restaurant above from the a car park where you should put your car because street parking is impossible (it is). Famous last words.

I mean – thank God for Google maps, now that our gps has decided to take up permanent residence in Ireland (that must have been some trip you guys!), it has saved our bacon many times. But it has its limitations in prehistoric cave country apparently.

However, we do eventually find the car parkade. This is promising. Relieved, we get our suitcases out, determine that we pay when we leave, and head up to the square. Where there are about a hundred teens and preteens having a loud meet up sesh. Now – where do we go from here? I do have a map, but the map doesn’t show the name of the car park (and there are several) or the name of the square.

I took this photo after we had come through the mob (toting two suitcases and and satchel) to show my contact where we were (because we had no idea!). She had sent us a map, with tons of arrows, and pages of detailed instructions, but honestly, we were exhausted, and frazzled and no good with the lovely google map and dropped pins. Help! The one adult we saw spoke no English and apparently had never heard of the street we were supposed to be on. Have I mentioned that street signs here are a rarity? No actual signs. Names of streets may or may not be here and there on the side of a building on the corner. Maybe.

But bless her heart, the off duty receptionist helped us turn by turn as I sent her a photo of where we were and she sent it back with arrows guiding the way:

Then – ta da! – we see the sign of the restaurant that is over our room! And even though they closed at 9, she had asked the guys to stay and wait for us to help us find our cave. So down, down, down the stairs and onto the little outdoor landing, and this is what we saw:

We were stunned – it is so beautiful at night, I can’t wait to see it in the daylight. And here is our little cave away from home (with all the mod cons):

By this time, we were starving to death. Luckily, the Italians eat dinner much later than we do, so although our little bistro was closed, the guys assured us that we would find restaurants open nearby in the old town. So I dropped a pin of my own on google maps, hoping it would help us find our way back home, and we headed out. Not for away we saw a restaurant and gratefully got two lasagnas with tiny meatballs and a bottle of Primitivo – the local wine. Both were excellent and we tumbled back down the hill to our beds. Tomorrow we have booked a private walking tour of the caves and old town and even though we don’t usually do tours of anything, this one is going to be worth its weight in gold just to have someone know where we are going and how to get back. Oh, and know the amazing history of this place – that too. And our tour guide is named “Cosimo”! What could possibly go wrong? (Seinfeld reference there for anyone who may not have watched it back in the day.). I will leave you with a photo of the church next door, which thankfully does not ring bells at an ungodly hour.

It pretty much goes without saying that the Italian countryside is a photographer’s dream. So this post is going to be mostly photos I took yesterday in the village of Panzano and the tiny hamlet of Volpaia. And a toilet story. But that’s pretty much it. Oh, and a funny video if I can figure out how to load that here, but that is definitely it.

I will do the gallery upload, so you will have to touch the first picture to enlarge it, then you can scroll through.

This is Panzano:

Next stop, the tiny hamlet of Volpaia (vole pie ah). We had been here many years ago and wanted to go back to see if the little neighbourhood dog we had met then (a wiener dog named Arturo) was still there. Apparently he and his buddies just came down to the square from their respective houses and had a little get together every day. Sadly, Arturo has passed away, though we made top brownie points with the owner for coming back and reminding her of little Arturo. These photos are of Volpaia:

Because most of the bathrooms here are retrofitted, they are usually tiny little windowless closet type single units that don’t encourage sitting around. One of the ways this strategy is reinforced, is to have the lights on a timer. A short timer. That turns the lights off. The first time this happened to me – and I was plunged into total darkness – I almost had a heart attack. So I continued to sit very still, trying to figure out what to do and if I could undo the lock without being able to see or find it. Luckily for me, this was the post-cell phone era and I had the flashlight app on my phone. I was feeling a little smug as the room lit up for me and I managed to get out without screaming for help. Here is a photo of a typical bathroom for reference:

Of course, at some point I figured out that sitting quite still was exactly the wrong thing to do in this situation, the correct strategy is to wave one’s arms wildly until the light comes back on. So when the room went black this time,

I knew exactly what to do – and felt pretty damned smug about it this time too

Apparently the farmers are all watching and waiting right now for the grapes to be at the absolute moment of perfection before picking. These extra days of hot weather are a bonus, but don’t wait too long, or the rain will come and then the ultimate moment will have passed. With rain forecasted for tomorrow, apparently today is the day.

The wine growers plant roses at the end of the vineyards because they will be the first to show any early signs of bug infestation or fungal disease.

We have just returned from a spectacular lunch at Osteria Fonterutoli – another favourite from past trips.

So that’s it – you are pretty much up to date with us. We are enjoying the sights, the sounds, the tastes and, more importantly, each other here. Now – unfortunately – I don’t seem to be able to upload the videos, but I will keep trying and add later if possible. Sorry about that.

Ciao for now . . .

Oh so sad to be leaving our first stop. What a great start to our Italian adventure.

Lorenza and her husband, Franco, insist on going with us to the train station and carrying our luggage (in spite of our protests). Once she has seen us safely to our platform, she bids us a very warm goodbye and we hop on our train to La Spezia.

The first of two legs goes just fine – a whole ten minutes ride. We got this! Then I notice that we have seat assignments on the second leg, from La Spezia to Pisa. All of our other train segments have been no assigned seating – every man for himself. Ok, so we are in car #7, seats whatever and whatever (we never found them). So as the cars are rolling in, they all have a big “2” on the side – which is second class. Hmm. “Just get on!”, says my long suffering husband. So as we “just get on” at the nearest door, we notice the car number in a little square that you can only see when the door is opened and folded outwards. Unfortunately, we are entering car #4, not #7. “Don’t care” says Don’s face.

So we find two empty seats and plunk ourselves down as general chaos seems to reign in the aisleway. The two people opposite us are kicked out by people who actually have seat assignments for those seats and there is quite the musical chairs thing going on all around us, but magically, no one arrives to claim our seats and we don’t have to move or find car #7, which is good because we don’t even know which way that would be from where we were.

We had a great conversation with the young couple from Seattle, comparing notes from our stays in Cinque Terre. They were also heading to Florence. This particular train was ten minutes late, thereby cutting our transfer in Pisa from a very doable 18 minutes to an impossible 8. And, in spite of many people running with their luggage and the two cute Italian ladies in front of us just missing the door closing by a second – the door wouldn’t re-open and a bunch of us were left stranded on the platform as the train pulled out without us.

But there are quite a few trains from Pisa to Florence during the day, so the young couple and two brothers who had now joined them, figured out which one we should take that would get us there the fastest, and it was only about 20 minutes away. The one brother was going to Lake Como for his best friend’s wedding which was coincidentally being held at the same hotel was stayed at in Varenna. All these little connections are one of the best things about travelling.

The conversation eventually got around to our month long trip and retirement. One of the brothers (they are from New York) said he had no idea how he would ever retire – wouldn’t he be bored? And the young woman from the couple raised her eyebrows and said, “Do they look bored!?!”. He had to admit – it looked like we were having a pretty good time in our retirement.

Anyway – I am happy to report that we did make it to Florence and our nice hotel which, unlike the last one that we stayed at in Florence, I am very happy to recommend.

It even has a small, intimate rooftop bar with yet another amazing view

Since we have no agenda for our one day stay in Florence, I thought it would be fun to look for the hidden wine doors of the city – something I only just recently learned about. These little doors were created in the 1600’s during the Italian plague (some even earlier apparently) so that the rich people could sell their excess wine to the lower classes without actually having to have contact with them. Today, some clever entrepreneurs have even reopened their wine doors for everything from coffee, to ice cream, to wine. There are over 150 of these little gems within the old walls of Florence – how hard could it be to spot one (you may ask). We did find one, but only because I asked our waitress about them and she pointed the one out on the door to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, on our walkabout today, we were unable to find any on our own. There is apparently a walking tour for the wine doors, so I guess we will just have to come back.

We got cornered near the Ponte Vecchio by a lonely young woman from Montana. She had been travelling with a friend, but the friend had to go home earlier than she did, so she is here on her own. Goes by “Sammy Joe”. Obviously missing safe social interaction, she chatted non-stop about a bunch of things, and eventually offered to take our photo by the bridge. Sure, why not? 24 frames later, and with Don actually walking out of the frame, we finally made our escape (after returning the photographic favour of course), by heading in the opposite direction. I was headed for the money shot of the bridge which for me includes the grass and the boats underneath.

So that’s pretty much all from today, tomorrow we head south to Greve in Chianti on the first day of a three day wine festival. We will be picking up our car and heading to the dreaded “toll roads” – hopefully we will remember how not to create a chaotic backlog of gesticulating Italian drivers behind us (like the first time).

We didn’t do the Uffizi, David at the Academia, the Piazza Michelangelo, or the Duomo today. What we did do – for us – was just as rewarding (and much less exhausting!). We just wandered around and enjoyed the beauty that is Florence.

They say “you can’t go back”, but I think sometimes you can. Sometimes there are just things that pull you back – and you won’t be satisfied until you have seen or done whatever that is.

Now, many of you dear readers will already know that this is not our first trip to the Cinque Terre, nor even our second. For Don, the pull is sitting in Lorenza’s garden, watching the sun set and maybe even falling asleep to the distant sounds of the village winding down for the night. For me, it has been to see the villages by boat, and this guy:

The one and only time we were in Monterosso before, the kids and we had done the gruelling 2.5 hour hike from Vernazza to get here and while we were sitting in a park preparing our picnic lunch, Don managed to slice his finger open and then declared the day over as he herded us to the train station to go back to our place in Vernazza. This was 2007. Needless to say, we didn’t see much of Monterosso, and when I got back to Vancouver and saw a photo of this guy and realized that we were “this” close, I just had to come back and find him. As you can see . . . he waited for me.

The ferry that services the five villages was another experience I had yet to enjoy, so today was the day. As we headed down to the landing in the harbour, a young man standing by a boat called to us, “Do you want a private boat? Or would you rather be stuffed like sardines in a can on the public boat!?!” Tempting, but we have our reasons. It’s a hop on hop off ferry, so you can make as many or as few stops as you want between the villages. Otherwise, a private boat with a handsome Italian skipper does sound very nice indeed.

Seeing the villages from the waterside is a wonderful experience, they are each unique and tiny and it is fascinating to think that the people here have lived in this remote area for so long – and until quite recently – completely untouched by tourism. Yes, yes – the tourists are here, but with good reason, so don’t let that deter you.

Another good thing about returning to a favourite place is that you don’t have to “do” a bunch of obligatory things. You probably did all those the first time. This time, you can just take time to enjoy what you love about the place.

The sun here is unrelenting, so by the time we got back to our home base of Riomaggiore, we were so hot. I am really feeling the heat this trip. So we headed to the swimming beach. Don wanted to go back to our apartment and change into his swimming trunks and get my bathing suit, the water shoes, and a towel, so he did that (all uphill remember) while I staked out a spot on the beach. I was so hot (there was no shade) and the water was so inviting, that I stripped down to my skivies (which could pass for a black tankini or one piece if you don’t look to close and I figure no one is looking at me when there are all these beautiful Italian girls around) and plunged myself into the beautiful ocean water. It was sublime. So when Don returned with my coloured t-shirt instead of bathing suit top and no water shoes, it didn’t matter a whit. It was glorious. And not a camera in sight (thank goodness).

I love seeing the local people just having a rest, chatting with their friends, and watching the crazy tourists go by. Or finding a moment to catch up on the news.

We did go inside two small churches in Monterosso, and especially liked the skeleton character – welcome my friends!!

By the way, you can click on each of the gallery images in any of the posts to see the full photo – Mary’s head is getting a little cut off here and I don’t seem to be able to fix it.

So that ‘s about it for today’s adventures, tomorrow is our last day here already, and is going to be a chillax day. Though Lorenza dropped by to say she wanted to have a little happy hour for us tomorrow evening, and did we like Aperol Spritz’s? Do we!?! Yes, yes we do.

For all the things we have learned in the last three years, it has become painfully obvious that there are also skills and knowledge that have been lost and forgotten. And as with many things, it isn’t until you go to use those skills once more that you make mistakes and realize that you may have forgotten some of the most fundamental elements of “travelling”.

Right off the bat (and somewhat reminiscent of the day/night/day – as it turned out – of my second son’s birth), we should have been on notice that something was about to go very much awry when everything seemed to be going oh so smoothly.

Here comes lesson number one. For the first time in my fifty years of travelling life, I did not check to ensure that my name on the plane ticket was correct. In my defence, I was busy checking to make sure that Don’s was right and didn’t think to correct the Air France’s auto fill-in feature for my own information. So when the agent said, “I’m very sorry, but the name on your ticket has to be the same as the name on your passport”, I thought, “yeah, I know that”. (But I didn’t actually say that out loud, which will be a relief to some of you out there.) She held it up for me to see and, I’ll be darned if it didn’t say “Jan Currie”. Our hearts sank and I was wondering what my chances of getting someone at Air France on the phone were, when she said that it actually could be fixed, and I had two options: they would actually allow me to fly that day on the first leg, but with the knowledge that I would have the same problem in another language when trying to check in for our return flight; OR if we didn’t mind waiting, an agent who knew how to make the name change could help us when she was free and it would be correct for our return flight in October. Since we were so early (3 hours and no lineups except the one developing behind us), and we had plenty of time to wait AND had absolutely no desire to have this problem again (in French no less), we sung a resounding “YES” in chorus and stood aside to wait however long it took. In the end, an agent was able to change those two flights, but not the flight from Paris to Florence. But “don’t worry – it is like a domestic flight and they probably won’t check”. “Well, at least we will be in Europe by then”, said Don and off we went to our gate, and all was well, including having time for lunch in the departures lounge because out of the four of us who voted, only one thought that they would serve us lunch (that’s you Jeanette!). But that’s okay – we had lunch twice that day.

The much anticipated shit-show of arrivals and passport check in Charles de Gaulle airport, turned out to be fake news – 20 minutes from outside security to our gate. I had a little sleep on a wooden bench, to which Don commented, “If you can sleep here, you can sleep anywhere” – which is actually true if you are tired enough.

And the ticket agent was right – no one in CDG cared about my little heretofore catastrophic name problem.

Florence airport is tiny – we had to do a “hard brake” because the runway is so short. That was fun. Our seats were not together, and I ended up being squished between an interestingly shaggy old fellow moving from Brazil to Italy and a young guy who said he does lighting technology for a band, and who was heading to Italy for a total of 3 days to attend a wedding with other band members scattered throughout the plane. The Brasílian guy insisted that the young guy was famous, but I thought he was kidding. Now I am thinking maybe I should have asked, but didn’t want to be “that guy”. Anyway, we had a great chat.

So we get to our hotel, and before I tell you “the rest of the story”, I am going to post a photo of the hotel’s best quality, the rooftop bar and pool.

Now, there is a little hint at the downside of this hotel in the name, and as we entered the lobby, there was one (long) line-up for students, and one for the rest of us (just us). Our room was spartan (to say the least) and Don – believe it or not – was at a bit of a loss for words when he saw it, because I did all the bookings this time and he did not know where we were going other than the two stops he requested we stay at places we had been before.

But we were only here for one night and the idea was to be close to the train station for our morning train, so okay, let’s see this pool. And yay! The pool is amazing. With a bar. Once we had our beer and Aperol spritz in hand, we hatched a plan to go for a swim and then dinner, trying to stay awake until 8:00 before crashing. The place seems to be some sort of quasi-school, though I can’t believe these 18 to 23 year old kids are paying 150$ a night to stay here. And I am happy to say that there was one other couple that were older than us. The people-watching was pretty fun for an hour or so. Especially the part where everyone in the seats with the primo view was on their phone.

We went to find the nearest pizzeria and took the longest way of course, in the wrong shoes, so consequently I limped back to the hotel (the shorter way) and am nursing sore feet (but not yet blisters thankfully). Second lesson is that you are always walking a long way, even if it’s only for dinner, so forget the nice sandals. Everyone here is wearing runners anyway.

So as we drop gratefully into bed (at 8:30), the music is blaring from the courtyard and the kids are at least two hours from banging down the halls and bidding all their new friends adieu. Lucky we were exhausted and the music wasn’t that bad, so at least one of us fell asleep pretty much right away. Of course that same person had to get up at about 2:30 am to use the washroom, and that was when what looked like a piece of fluff started walking around on the bathroom floor. I am guessing silverfish. Yay.

Wide awake before 6:00 am, we both had showers and hopefully woke a bunch of hungover kids up. This is one of the sweet revenges of the senior that we have just discovered . . .

We got the train no problemo and enjoyed the views on the way. Don loves a good train ride. We changed in La Spezia and when we got on the connector train, quickly became the information booth for everyone asking if this was the train to the Cinque Terre or some version thereof. Even though we were the new experts, we almost got caught up in getting off at the first “La Spezia” stop, being completely off the train before asking a fellow passenger (newest new expert), who said no – it’s the next one that you want. Don grabbed both suitcases and virtually threw them back on the train as I hopped on – if it had started then, only one of us would have made it to the correct La Spezia stop. But we both did (I was considering risking an arm in the door if it started to close, but luckily didn’t have to make that choice). Oh – I forgot the third lesson – never expect “il toilette” to have any paper of any sort. Always have a cache of Kleenexes with you. This may be the most important lesson of all. I was ok thankfully, but used the last tiny square of tp and had to warn the next lady that there was no more. She returned to her seat to stock up on tissues. Fourth lesson is always have a euro coin in your pocket. Pay toilets are the thing here. The cafe where we had coffee and croissants (!) had a toilet but you needed a code that was printed on the receipt that they took from you when they made your coffees. I held up the line long enough for the cashier to give me another receipt with the code and there was a large male enforcer at the bathroom door who punched in the code and said (to me and the two ladies behind me) “Due!!”. Meaning 2. So the 3 of us crammed in and closed the door. I’m pretty sure neither of them had the code. Chalk another one up for the sisterhood.

We finally made our way to Riomaggiore, to stay once again in one of Don’s favourite places in the world. Casa Lorenza is run by the most wonderful woman and we had a loud, huggy reunion on the front patio when we arrived.

The rest of the day consisted of lunch, naps, blogs, dinner and sitting on our patio to watch the sun set. Don is fast asleep beside me in a lounge chair and we have (almost) made it to a normal bedtime for the second day in a row, so the jet lag should be behind us by tomorrow.

Bonna Notte everyone – until tomorrow . . .

This is a flower

We love flowers

These are our flowers (and Don’s feet)