Grinding Gears and Roundy-Rounds: The drive to Cortona

 

This post is supposed to be about the drive to Cortona.  And it will be.  But first I must include a story about Volterra, which I had neglected to mention previously. 

We were eating dinner in Volterra, and the outside eating area was quite crowded:  Behind us was a German group with two great big dogs, they looked very much like mastiffs.  Right next to us were two Italian men talking to each other quite animatedly, each of whom was eating his own pizza.  The Germans went to pay, leaving their dogs outside.  One Italian, who had finished eating, was toying with the idea of throwing his uneaten prosciutto to the dogs.  When the Germans exited, he asked them if he would be allowed to:  “Proscuitto per il tuo cane?”  “Nein” the German woman replied, before elaborating:  “He is allergic to the prosciutto.”  The mournful, withering stare that the dog gave his master clearly indicated that he was NOT, in fact, allergic to prosciutto. 

We stayed up late that night, sharing a bottle of wine, and started this blog:  We wrote the first two entries that night, and the third in the morning.  We knew we would miss the agriturismo, but were confident that more fun lay ahead.  In the morning we packed, purchased two bottles of home-made wine, and were off toward Cortona faster than Ryan Smith can come up with an excuse to avoid going out with us. 

Lucia had seen plenty of use running back and forth between our agriturismo and Volterra (about 4 kilometers), but yearned to stretch her legs a bit on the open road.  So we again trod the narrow, winding road back towards Siena.  It is beautiful country, and a gorgeous ride, if you don’t mind going slow.  Much of the drive involves going up and down hills:  Navigating hairpin switchbacks, and then sidling along the ridge.  Shaffer did well, though he rode the clutch pretty hard and was grinding Lucia’s gears a fair bit.  (Sorry Pops, I know you taught me better than that.  I didn’t lay any scratch, or stall the car though).  Lucia didn’t mind, she was right where she wanted to be:  On the open road with the sun on her windshield, and a light Tuscan breeze rustling her antenna.  Amy was an expert navigator.  While signs in Italy are fairly common, the methodology behind them is inconsistent:  Sometimes they indicate the direction toward a large city, and other times only to the next small town on the route.  Amy was unfazed, and with her trusty Italian road atlas in hand, she navigated confidently, and always kept us on course for Cortona. 

We came to Siena, which was where the fun really began.  You see, you can’t just pass through Siena.  No.  That would be too simple; too un-Italian.  Rather, you have to go around, across diagonally, over, and under the city, and then catch the ferry to Beijing, in order to get through Siena.  Most of all, you have to navigate a million roundabouts (or as we call them: roundy-rounds):  You get through one, drive about ten feet, and start another one.  As always, the signage was inconsistent.  We made it though, by hook or by crook. 

Once through Siena, we hit a rural highway, or superstrada as the locals call them.  Unlike the autostrada, you pay no toll on a superstrada, so we were able to make good time at no cost to us.  We really flew, averaging 150 kilometers per hour.  Before we knew it, we were taking the exit for Cortona. 

View driving into Cortona

Cortona is another hill town, also with ancient Etruscan roots.  The approach to it was much different from Volterra.  Volterra is surrounded by more hills, so our view of it was obscured until we were almost there.  A long, flat plain stretches out at the base of Cortona, so we had about 5 kilometers worth of unobstructed view of it as we approached.  What a view it was.  Perched on the side of a mountain, vibrant vermilion (see what I did there Rob) terra cotta shingles roasting in the Tuscan sun.  A sort of sentry, overlooking the gentle Tuscan fields beneath it.  Absolutely breathtaking.  

Amy with a view of the valley below Cortona

We drove up several kilometers towards the top of Cortona, each turn of Lucia’s wheels bringing us an exponentially more breathtaking view of the fields beneath from whence we’d come.  Our destination was our hotel:  Casa Kita, a private residence which lets out several rooms in the heart of Cortona.  The website had showcased a gorgeous room, with breathtaking views out over the valley below.  Our contact was Osvaldo, an energetic and eccentric Italian who made up for his shortcoming in the proficiency of the English language with his enthusiastic insistence on trying to speak it.  We had written him the day prior asking (in serviceable Italian) for directions to Casa Kita.  Below is a transcript of the e-mail we received:

                                                                                                                           

“Ciao Robert,

Come when you, the room and ‘availability from now already for parking and’ easy.  when you come to us, then I tell you.  Take as an indication garibaldi square.  Then get off in via Gino Severini, after 50 on the right you see a bar, the sign on the plants and a sign with casakita .. no we are here if you have problems call .. francesca replied my niece and she speaks fluent english morrow.

OSVALDO SALUTES TO YOU!!!”

Uh-oh.

Actually things worked out quite nicely.  The directions proved surprisingly adequate, and we were treated with a lovely drive through town, culminating in the central Piazza Garibaldi.  Francesca met us at the door, and was very nice, though she might refrain in the future from claiming English fluency.  We dropped off our luggage and parked Lucia in a free lot, some two hundred feet below Casa Kita.  We had little choice, as the town is quite literally built onto a cliff face, and the switchback roads have probably 75 feet of height between them.  There are outdoor escalators placed conveniently to bring people from the lot to Piazza Garibaldi.  Were Ben Abbe or Rob Vermillion with us, they likely would have made us run the long way to the top.  Were Tim Costa there, he would have done a shot of whiskey on the escalator, while complaining about how inconvenient this was, and bragging about how much he could ERG 10 years ago.

Our room at Casa Kita

Casa Kita is certainly eclectic.  The room itself is gorgeous, and the beauty of the views from the window was in no way exaggerated.  There is a very serviceable bathroom, and a comfortable bed.  A full kitchen (complete with espresso maker) is ours to use, though is shared by Osvaldo and his family.  The balcony is very pleasant to sit on in the evening, and offers even more stunning views.  However, some of the décor is questionable, if not downright confusing.  Upon entering, one is greeted by a cabinet full of meticulously painted tin soldiers, from every era:  Spanish conquistadors, Napoleon, Wellington, the American Revolution, the American Civil War, the Crimean War, and several others.  In addition, various artwork throughout showcases Osvaldo’s love of Cuba, including a provocative photo of a Cuban drag queen.  Finally, and most importantly, a large picture of a creature with a cat’s head and face, but with a woman’s body complete with large breasts and a shaved pubic region.  Because that’s what all the fashionable cats are doing these days.  You have no idea how many fantastically wicked jokes I had to omit from this paragraph.    

This is how most horror stories start...

Not even sure what to say about this

  

After getting our bearings, we headed out on the town.  We will talk more about Cortona in a later post, but suffice it to say that it is a walled city, like Volterra, but also different in so many ways.  Volterra seemed ready to sustain a siege at any moment; Cortona seemed to fear no siege:  It is a quintessential Tuscan village.  Red terra cotta roofs, quiet, unhurried shopkeepers, and a population that speaks little English.  Both the novel and the film “Under the Tuscan Sun” were set here. 

We ate Pizza for lunch, and for the first time we had more than we bargained for.  Eager to explore new flavors, we got different varieties, and it was just too much.  As we explained in the previous post, Amy stuck with the margherita while Shaffer got the Diavola.  Amy discovered that there is something about Tuscan salami that does not agree with her; she does just fine with Umbrian salami. 

Decorative orange with cloves

Too much pizza- they are different even though they look the same

After lunch we explored just the innermost of the city, finding several churches with beautiful frescoes on the interior.  Many churches here do not allow photography.  We break the rules (with the utmost of respect) where we can on behalf of our dear friends back home, but regret that we are able to show only the outside of most establishments.  We enjoyed two gelati:  limone for Amy and fragola (Strawberry, complete with fresh strawberries on top) for Shaffer.   Then it was back to Casa Kita for a brief respite.  

GELATO!

There was little to do at Casa Kita, beside enjoy the panoramic vistas, eat a complimentary pastry, and talk to each other.  So that we did.  Were Sally Jerome here, she surely could have found a more poetic way (most likely in French) to sum up the experience.  It was tranquil, private, and luxurious.  Not even a sarcastic jibe from Arwen DeSpain could have interrupted our serenity. 

After our brief respite, we searched out some dinner.  We found it tucked up high on a little used backstreet.  To get there, we braved many an Italian man’s guffaw, Italian grandmother’s leer, Italian dog’s bark, and Italian vespa’s whine.  Once inside, we settled into a mezzolitre (half-liter) of house red wine.  Amy ordered the Gnocchi, which came in a tomato sauce, and Shaffer had the arrosto misto:  Mixed roasted meats.  This was one of the few secondi that we had had.  It consisted of roast chicken, duck, rabbit, and pigeon.  Only we were not quite sure which was which.  Shaffer thought that he knew.  “This one has to be the chicken.”  He said, offering a bite to Amy.  Amy took it, chewed it once with horror in her eyes, and swallowed painfully before glaring at Shaffer and growling:  “That was NOT chicken.”  Ultimately, Shaffer thought they all tasted like chicken.  Guess that whiskey and cigars really do ruin your palette.  See our previous post for pictures.

After dinner it was back to Casa Kita where we had a bottle of wine on the terrace, and talked until the sun went down.  Life is so very hard over here.  We then settled in for a fitful night’s sleep.  (We still have not really got the hang of sleeping over here).

Two weary travelers at Casa Kita

Finally, a couple of special congratulations.  The first to Katie Leary and Adam Steele who will be getting married later this month.  Congratulations guys!!  We are so excited to celebrate with you.  The second to Michael Moffitt, who two days ago assumed the Deanship of the University of Oregon School of Law.  Congratulations boss, I know that we are in very good hands.  Thirdly, to Ashley and Brent Pineda, who have announced that they are expecting a baby!!  What’s more, they have already committed to naming him Shaffer!  Well not really.  Here’s hoping though. 

Up Next:  I Dolci Italiani:  A vignette on the desserts of Italy, with a special shout out to the Abbes of Eugene.  Afterwards:  Cortona!!

THE CLARIDGES SALUTE TO YOU!!!!

Arrivaderci!