After another fine breakfast at Palazzo Leopoldo (the cheeses are great, and today they had figs). Excellent selection of breakfast meats, pastries, etc. Once again, though, I felt like I was in Seattle when I got strange for not ordering coffee.
We said goodbye to our four friends from last night, took some time around town, checked out of the hotel, and drove across winding roads to San Gimignano. Even though – as we drove west – the mountains turned to hills and valleys, the roads were still twisting up and down, so I kept shifting from fourth gear to second, to third, and back down. Unlike Vermont, in Tuscany you can get there from here, but it’s going to take some time.
Still all the driving was neat for Carol and I (except the occasions when she got a little queasy), because we got all over large chunks of the backroads of Central Tuscany, which is the way we both like it (although she prefers asphalt with her roads, I’m fine with dirt).
Up on a hill with its dramatic towers, San Gimignano (pronounced any damn way you please at this point) is striking as we approach the town and parked right outside the city walls. A nearly tragic moment occurred when I managed to scrap a pole pulling into the town parking lot, but all’s well that ends well (as you will see later in the day).
We squeezed into a spot (the lines are drawn to easily accommodate something slightly larger than a racing bike (bicycle, not motorcycle – that’s way too big!) and headed into town. Known by many (okay, probably a handful) as the “Manhattan of Italy” because of its medieval towers, the town is quite picturesque.
Just inside the gates is the Museum of Torture. The Lonely Planet guidebook said “children will enjoy that.” Or not. While it was very interesting to Carol and I (we’ve both worked in politics, mind you), the girls were pretty grossed out. Maybe it should say “boys will enjoy it.” It was filled with torture instruments from the Inquisition, with vivid descriptions of how and why they were used. Boy, those were enlightened times!
The girls bagged out after the first floor, and frankly I couldn’t read every plaque or look at every torture device. The experience will come in handy for the girls when their 10th grade English teacher says, “class, the topic for the paper is ‘man’s inhumanity to man.’ Discuss.”
The ticket also got us in to the Death Penalty Museum up the street. There wasn’t any enthusiasm to go to that museum.
We then walked some side streets to catch panoramic views of the surrounding countryside (San G – as we call it – is perched up high on a hill, like many Tuscan towns) and views up to the various towers. We stopped for lunch and sat in the sun at the Piazza della Cisterna, listening to the various bells chime noon. Julia bought a necklace at a nearby silversmith, and we hung out in the Piazza for a while.
Then, we went up to the Piazza del Duomo, and went into the Duomo. Then it happened. What will be forever known as the “The Minor Shorts Incident of 2007” by some (me) or as the “The Great Shorts Fiasco of 2007” by others (Carol). It was a sunny day. Warm (60s). The last few days had been sunny, and a bit warm walking around in jeans. So I put on shorts. It was warm.
Upon presenting our tickets to go into the Duomo, the ticket lady pointed at me, gestured, and pulled me aside. Then she disappeared briefly into the back, before returning triumphantly carrying a light blue apron-style made out of foamy material for me to put on to cover my legs. I guess Carol thought our impending invitation to dine with the queen of England would be rescinded, because my wife was not happy with my fashion faux pas. And she let me know it. I felt a little odd swishing around in a light blue dress like material, but I really didn’t care what the 30 strangers in the church thought. And, frankly, my dear, I don’t think they give a damn.
However, it is the last day I will be wearing shorts.
Freed from my humiliation (I think they have one of the leg cover-ups in the torture museum), we climbed the Torre Grossa (big tower) to have both a good stairs workout AND great views of the town and surrounding countryside.
We headed back down the tower, and into a beautiful courtyard. Nature called, so we followed the signs for the W.C. (watercloset). Torie was quite surprised when it was one of the old fashioned kind – nothing but a few private holes in the ground. The girls decided to wait. The circumstances of the toilet didn’t bother me any. (As we left Volterra later, there was a guy who thought he was hidden behind a rise in the ground relieving himself. He was hidden – from traffic coming up the hill, but to those of us going down the hill he was in plain sight. Classy.)
We walked out of town, looking in some of the shops along the way, but seeing nothing.
As we left the town, I was flip-flopping between going to Volterra or bagging that and heading north to Florence. I made a fateful decision.
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