Ten Days Under the Tuscan Sun
and in the Shade of Umbria --
Without Rose-Colored Sunglasses
By Adrian Leeds
Photos by Erica Simone

A traveler in one of our hotels remarked that we were very brave renting a car in Italy -- and now in hindsight, I see it was not only brave, but could have been stupid. Lost on Italian roads is what is to be expected, since directional signs are haphazard at best. This was a natural first comparison with France where everything is so orderly and clear that the contrast with Italy's anarchistic ways was striking. We found ourselves driving up the wrong side of a divided highway, turning several times 'round a round-about not knowing which way out was correct and trying to distinguish the hotel directional signage from the sights. I prayed like hell that our week's adventure in our "Fix-It-Again-Tony" would be uneventful at best.

The Leaning Tower was our first stop. We spotted it from a distance and head straight for it. At 8 a.m., parking just near the tower was no sweat. Seeing the tower for the first time (for Erica, as it wasn't my first) is like the first time you go to Ireland and realize how green it really is. It really does lean, just like they say! And it's stunningly beautiful set elegantly near the Duomo for which it was built as a campanile (bell tower) in the 13th-century.

One of life's little enigmas, strangely, no matter how many photos we took from every direction possible, the tower leans in the opposite direction from the camera's eye. A guard at the door was "leaning" on the door frame and I overheard an American exclaim, "Is he really leaning or is he standing straight while the tower leans?!"

Tourists stand on the grassy plain with their arms up and their hands flat while a friend photographs the tower behind them to create the illusion they are holding it up. This was the introduction to our ten days in Tuscany, Umbria and Rome. By 10 a.m. the first morning we had already accomplished much.

Getting out of Pisa was easier than getting in and within 15 minutes we were in Viareggio, our seaside resort destination. Finding the Hotel Liberty I had booked on the Internet, however, took another 45 minutes once we learned to maneuver around the port and the one-way streets. Viareggio was exactly as I expected...an enormous stretch of sand along the Mediterranean, wall to wall with umbrellas and lounge chairs, cabanas, snack bars, restaurants and hotels.

"Hotel parking" meant a spot in the alley behind all the other cars and leaving the key. The hotel and room might be described as out-of-date 70's with cheaper-than-Ikea furnishings and kitsch drawings of women from many eras adorning the lobby and corridor walls. For more than 100€ a night, you don't get much in high season.

At a waterside restaurant, we ate our first Linguine alla Vongole and Insalata di Gamberi and topped it off with a Caffè Macchiato (espresso with milk, what we call a "Café Noisette" in France) then headed to the beach for our first day of tanning.

The beach was wide -- too wide for my tastes, but the lounge chairs with their head shades were accommodating for any type of tan you want to achieve. The water was the perfect temperature, the waves were low and easy, the depth was to waist high for a long way out, the sky was a bright blue and while it was hot, not too uncomfortable. I'd call it a pretty close to perfect beach afternoon where I slept most of it away, reading for a while and fantasizing on a raft on the water while the waves gently carried me back to shore.

Erica went out and partied with new found Italian friends that evening while I slept off a stomach bug -- not my idea of what a first day on vacation should be. Thanks to my nurturing daughter, I was dosed with remedies from the corner pharmacy and we both hoped for a speedy recovery, which came by next morning.

A man's sexy low voice sang in the background while we drank cappuccino and ate buttery croissants at the hotel breakfast dining room. Then we ventured northward along the coastal road through the seaside resort towns of Camaiore and Pietrasanta to Forte dei Marmi which I had been told was a classy spot among a more plebeian stretch of resorts. Here the guidebooks say not to miss the window-shopping. They are right. The pretty little town is wall-to-wall boutiques with the most beautiful of Italian designed goods. With much on Summer sale, it was tough to resist.

Several shops advertise hand made shoes. Ah...Italian shoes. To me they rival the pâtisseries of France -- each one a little sweeter than the next. The clothing -- the kind you can only wear once since each one is unforgettable. The housewares -- too clever and contemporary for their own good. The linens -- luxurious and fine. Here is where the wealthier Italians come for their Summer holiday with their families, use bikes as their main mode of transportation and don't for a second, forget they are there to see be seen in their finest Italian fashions.

In observation of the Italian culture, particularly compared to the French, of which I am fascinated, their anarchistic lifestyle, contrary to the French sense of order, is at every turn. Cars, motorbikes and bicycles seem to ride in every which way regardless of street direction and without care for the others. Mothers allow their children to ride standing on the front of their motorbikes as if no danger could possibly beget them. One woman had two children propped on the back of her bike while another rode on the front -- on the highway nonetheless. Cars pull out on to the highway and people cross the streets without looking, assuming whoever is there will stop or go around them. It's shocking from our cultural perspective that they can be so "laisser-faire" to the danger. Yet, it all seems to work, in rhythm.

Another observation that couldn't help but catch my attention are the different body types the Italians have compared to the French, who are mostly gaunt and waifish. There is no question that Italian men are among the most handsome in the world. Young and old alike are like proud peacocks -- well built, well groomed, with strong bone structure, dark thick wavy hair and are not afraid to show off their Italian Stallion bodies with tight clothing.

The women on the other hand are more the victims of the Italian carbohydrate diet and become Reuben-esque from an early age. Worried about my own weight gain while indulging on pasta and "gelati," I began to feel like a runway model in comparison, so continued to eat without reserve, while feeling guilty in typical American style. Italian women don't seem to care -- they still gladly show off their bulging cleavages and Bibendum (the Michelin man) shapes while donning their lowest cut tops, sexiest rhinestone stiletto heels and often too-heavy eye make-up -- all in the name of catching a husband or making their friends jealous...and here I was feeling self-conscious about my few extra pounds. Silly me.

The marble mining town famous for the whitest of stone in the world, Carrara, was not far away -- up a winding narrow road dotted with marble souvenir shops and distributors. We decided to see it for ourselves, this place where one is warned to wear suntan lotion for fear of burning from the sun's reflection off the white stone. Along the road you can pick up souvenir bits of the marble that attracted sculptors such as Michelangelo and Henry Moore. The sidewalks of the town at the bottom of the mountain are paved with the white marble and statuary can be purchased at retailers in Carrara and neighboring Massa. For the first time I understood the significance of the marble statuary that adorned the homes and front lawns of Italian descent friends I grew up with in New Orleans.

We took three days to enjoy and explore the Versilia Coast, each afternoon languishing on a different beach. Two chairs and an umbrella can set you back as much as 30€ for the day. Cabanas are available for changing clothing -- all provided by the snack bar or restaurant that has rights on that particular small stretch of beach. The beaches are wide and the system doesn't allow you to get too close to the water without either paying dearly or having an "in" with the proprietors. These are family beaches with lots of kids and very little toplessness, so common on other European beaches. I decided, for a "lizard" like myself, that these were the kinds of beaches I could avoid next time around and leave them to the families for which they were meant. Give me, instead, the tiny intimate coves and clear waters of islands such as Corsica or Ibiza.

Onward and inland, we took a slow trek to Florence along the smaller national roads stopping in Lucca for a brief visit through the old walled city. Parking in these ancient enclaves is reserved for residents in the spaces marked with yellow lines and a few precious spots marked in blue for paying short-termers. The 130 foot high "Torre dei Guinigi" (tower) in Lucca that has a forest of ancient oak trees on top can be visited for a small entry fee.

An old covered market nearby is sparsely filled with a few leftover merchants. The main things to take home from Lucca are olive oil and dried "porcini" mushrooms, which are sold in numerous little boutiques all over town. It's a pretty little city that hasn't changed much since the Middle Ages -- the postman still delivers mail from door to door on a bike riding down the narrow streets trying not to hit the tourists and a few remaining residents.

Lunch was a rather bizarre adventure in Prato, only a few kilometers from Florence, where we found a deserted city center, except for a disproportionately large number of Africans selling imported goods. One lone man in long pants and long sleeves in the sweltering heat was walking in the middle of the street circling the city aimlessly with a glassy-eyed expression on his face. One restaurant on the main square was open, with one server, one chef and one other couple dining on pasta and salads. It was surrealistic to say the least, including the "Penne al Bacco," a quill-shaped pasta cooked in red wine that was the color of a deep, dark eggplant, but it was one of the best pastas we had eaten during the entire vacation.

Half way into our trip, eating pasta at every meal, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to being grossly disappointed by the overall quality of our meals. We've learned that most restaurants make a habit of salting the boiling water in which the pasta is cooked, thereby making every pasta dish too salty to our tastes. A couple of times, the pasta was actually too "al dente" (however, in France it is forever overcooked and mushy). The prices on the whole were reasonable and we never spent much more than 25€ a person, even in the better restaurants in the bigger cities.

I used to think one couldn't eat badly in Italy, but that opinion has changed, now that I've had too many years of experience cooking myself and regularly dining in France. It is still also true, that besides Italian cuisine in Italy, there is little else. Occasionally you can find Chinese restaurants and I spotted one Mexican restaurant and one or two Indian restaurants in Rome. In France, the Chinese and Japanese have sprouted sushi bars and Asian take-outs on just about every block. Italy hasn't caught on -- perhaps they simply don't have the same immigration France does.

One of the things the Italians do brilliantly is the simplest -- an "insalata verde" or "insalata mista" -- just fresh greens, plain, served with oil, vinegar, salt and pepper, that you dress and prepare yourself. Another is, of course, the "gelati," -- ice cream in every imaginable flavor piled high like Marge Simpson hair, each in a stainless steel bin, waiting to be layered into a cone in the shape of rose petals. It is divine...and on every corner. Yet, another reason for those extra kilos I've carried home.

I've been to Florence several times in the past and each time found it to be my least favorite of all Italian cities. Everyone thinks I'm nuts since it rivals Rome from the point of view of art and architecture, but for whatever reason, it's never passed the "so-what" test for me. This trip I purposely put it on the itinerary, with a reservation for two (at the high price of 36€) at the Uffizi Gallery, to which there has always been too long an entry line, and the hopes that maybe this visit would be different.

We arrived in blinding rain, and without knowing where we were headed in the slightest, miraculously ended up parking only a few steps from our hotel. Parking the car in a lot set us back 24€ per day, but doing anything different would have been sheer idiocy.

Luckily, Florence is a small city, easily maneuverable on foot. Once we settled into adequate accommodations not far from the Merkado Centrale, we ventured out into the wet streets to get the lay of the land, particularly passing through the shopping Mecca I remembered Florence to be.

The outdoor stands surrounding the "Mercado Centrale" (central market) that line the adjacent streets, are bargains for leather jackets, shoes, purses, wallets, gloves, scarves, ties, jewelry and various knickknacks. Each carries just about the same goods, not necessarily of the highest quality, but very acceptable for the prices. It's hard to tell if they are truly competitors or family-run chain operations -- if they can't find your size in their own, they head down the street to locate it in another. In the heat and rain mid Summer, one can drive a hard bargain on jackets as the merchants were working hard to make a sale. For a total of 220€, we each came home with a new jacket for Fall.

All the shops in Florence and throughout Italy are advertising Summer sales we found to be particularly good buys and couldn't resist filling our suitcases with Italian fashions. The knit goods, particularly men and women's undergarments, are perhaps the biggest bargains. At 50% off, we were able to buy bras as little as 5€ that are better quality than Victoria Secret's $40 numbers in chain stores that are all over the country such as Tezenis and Intissimi.

But of course, that was only one reason for a visit to Florence. The main ones, of course, were to take in the famous Italian paintings that hang in the Uffizi and visit Il Duomo San Maria del Fiori that acts as an anchor in the center of the city.

While the exterior of the cathedral of green and white marbles with its celebrated bronze Baptistery doors by Ghiberti is certainly magnificent to behold from whatever standpoint. The interior is simple and unassuming, with the exception of the frescoed ceiling of the dome by Vasari and completed by Zuccari in the 16th-century. The stream of tourists into the cathedral is reminiscent of the constant line into Notre Dame at Paris.

I couldn't wait for our appointment the next morning at the Uffizi and boiled with emotion when the clerk told me I hadn't printed out the correct confirmation -- that without it we couldn't enter. She confronts the same problem about five times a day, she admitted, and gave me a number to call that would locate our confirmation number. With that the tickets were issued and off we went to bathe in the glow of the Botticellis.

Not being an admirer of religious art, most of the work that hangs in the famous gallery, left me cold, except for the hints at UFO's my daughter pointed out painted in the skies in many a "Madonna and Child." She studied the significance of the extra-terrestrial references during her art history courses as part of her own extra-curricular interests. Now, she had me wondering, too.

The highlight of the visit was of course, the room of Botticellis -- "The Birth of Venus" and "Primavera." I also marveled at the Fra Filippo Lippis, particularly "Madonna and Child with Angels" painted in the mid 15th-century. In the bookshop, we purchased souvenirs of these paintings as I realized it could easily be my last time to view them in person.

The line to enter the Galleria dell'Accademia where Michelangelo's goliath David stands (made of Carrara marble), was all the way around the corner in the sweltering heat and we decided not to torture ourselves for one more look at the magnificent marble statue.

Florence made even less of an impression on me than it had before. Unable to escape the tourists, the heat and the trappings, we both agreed we'd leave Florence for those who don't realize Italy has so much more to offer. It never needs to be on my personal itinerary again.

After two days in Florence, our next stop was San Gimignano on route to Siena. Another tourist trapping, I can remember when it was less explored and less jaded. The city of 13 towers built by the noble families of the 12th and 13th-centuries, it declined as an economic power after the plague of 1348 and a diversion of the pilgrim route. Today, it is a Mecca of artisan shops selling Tuscan ceramics and linens.

By sheer coincidence, we had lunch in the same restaurant in which I had dined in 1984 with a terrace overlooking the Tuscan landscape and I ordered the same dish -- "Pappardelle al Chingiale" -- a wide flat pasta with a wild boar and tomato sauce. It was better than I had remembered and our brief visit to this ancient city was delightful.

We knew Siena would be difficult to maneuver with a car, with it's winding narrow one-way streets too narrow for most sized cars, but good directions to the hotel landed us just in front so we could unload the car and then move it swiftly to a parking lot nearby. On our sixth day in Italy, our "parking karma" had faired pretty well, so perhaps "brave" we were, rather than "stupid" for having rented a car in the first place.

Siena is for me, always the jewel in a Medieval land, and continues to inspire me. The "Albergo Cannon d'Oro" in which we stayed was at one time a former palace owned by the noble Bulgarini family until 1262. The halls meandered in a maze of many directions, up and down a variety of levels of stone steps. The room was simple, sparse, unairconditioned, but clean. A gander of American nuns in blue habits were also guests of the hotel, seemingly fitting in this setting.

A short walk downhill the stone-paved street lined with elegant shops took us directly to the Piazza del Campo, the semi-circular Place where the Palio (bareback horse race) takes place every year on July 2 and August 16. For me, this is Italy's most alluring and beautiful piazza. Even the guidebooks agree. Its special shape of nine segments designed to reflect the authority of the Council of Nine and symbolize the protective folds of the Madonna's cloak began in 1293. Today, the red brick paving on an angle to a center point creates a natural theater, with all eyes on the Palazzo Pubblico and its tall thin tower (the Torre del Mangia), as young and old alike laze on the brick or in the bordering cafés.

Not far away is the Duomo of black and white marble striping, one of Italy's greatest cathedrals. Had the 14th-century plans to create a new nave come to fruition, it would have become the largest church in Christendom. There is a small charge of 3€ to enter now, which no one seems to mind, as a visit is well worth the price of admission.

In this magical place, I must add that "synchronicity" seems to continue to play a role in my life, having been in the same place three times with the same tourists -- a distinctive looking bearded man with his pregnant (I assume) wife. First we passed them in the Duomo in Florence, then again in the Duomo in Siena and miraculously at a nearby table in the same restaurant on a back street of Siena. I have vowed that should we connect a fourth time, I will not hesitate to strike up a conversation.

A wrong turn once out of Siena the next morning turned out to be a lucky mistake taking us deep into the countryside, where we found fields upon fields of sunflowers and beautiful stone farmhouses. It was worth the extra 30 minutes of travel time to get a glimpse of Umbrian landscape.

On route to Assisi, we stopped in Perugia for a brief visit and lunch. If I had taken time before leaving for Italy to research restaurant recommendations, we would have taken less risks with our dining experiences. Instead, we used our noses to ferret out those that seemed to be non-touristed and lucked out more often than not. On this occasion, we ventured down a flight of stairs to find a very nice restaurant on a terrace with a beautiful view of the hillside and a magnificent array of antipasti dishes "della casa."

While we were ordering our meal, four American couples with their teenage kids entered and positioned themselves at two large tables. Up until that moment, the scene was serene, then of course, the atmosphere took a U-turn. We chuckled to ourselves as our compatriots ordered mountains of French fries with ketchup and then heard one young girl exclaim, "I just LOVE ketchup!" We supposed that some habits are just too hard to break. It became our theme song throughout the remainder of the trip: "I just LOVE ketchup!"

At the main post office of Perugia down the street, we took in a few letters to mail that ended up becoming a 25-minute errand. Employing a very sophisticated system, we were told to take a number and wait for it to be called by watching the LED displayed numbers above each window. Once it was our turn, the clerk took the time to read the address and notations and make comment on each. When I asked for a receipt, the sophisticated system broke down. Out came a big pad of paper, carbon paper, a rubber stamp and the clerk's signature. The contrast was comical and we understood immediately why something that should have taken 5 minutes to accomplish took 5 times as long.

Assisi was the highlight of the entire ten-day adventure, thanks to our American friend, who showed us her adopted city from an insider's point of view. Assisi is was the birthplace of St. Francis, who founded the Franciscan religious order there in 1208. This ancient religious and spiritual spot on the planet is visited by pilgrims and tourists of all ages and nationalities wanting to get a glimpse of Saint Frances' tomb, the Giotto frescoes and the Cathedral of San Rufino among other important sights.

While there is an inordinate number of religious figures in Assisi -- priests, monks and nuns, I was amazed also at the number of pilgrims -- from young scouts to a few barefoot, and sometimes robed devoted spirits. There is no question of the enormous presence of spirituality of this particular dot in the world and why so many venture there, including our friend who has found a certain peace and purpose in life. The message of peace, the prayer of St. Frances, who asked the Lord to make him an instrument of his peace. Regardless of faith, we should all take to this to heart. It seems so fruitless in today's world, with little true peace to speak of, as we watch the images of the war and destruction taking place in the Middle East, the vortex of the spiritual world.

Our friend took us on an excursion one afternoon up a winding rocky road to the top of the Mount Subasio nearby where we could see the cattle and long-haired horses on the plains. Below were breathtaking views of the valley. Sun-bathers were tanning at the top. Making a circle, we traveled to the beautiful little village of Spello, where annually in June, they celebrate the "Infiorata" (flower) festival in the medieval streets. There in a quiet café, we showed the patron how to make real American style iced coffee while all the locals watched her concoct the brew. Made with good Italian coffee, it was better than delicious, particularly on this hot Umbrian day.

Leaving Assisi and our friend behind us, we took a detour on route to Rome through Montefalco where we were told to drink the water eight saints were born there...and through Todi, a beautiful village high on a hill with two piazzas that join at one corner. I have a particular affection for this tiny part of Italy which we discovered more than 20 years ago thanks to close friends, both of whom have since died of cancer. It will forever hold a special place in my heart and memory.

Our only experience on the Autostrada took us from Todi to Rome. Entering Rome is similar to entering Paris...all roads seem to lead there...and without too much difficulty, found our Bed and Breakfast, was able to park and unload our luggage. We then proceeded to return the rental car to Hertz at the train station, an enormous and surly place bustling with the activity of tourists and the inactivity of the homeless. It was liberating to be released from the burden of the car in a city of such magnitude and off we went to see the sights.

Rain did not deter the tourists at the Trevi Fountain, and while the streets off the beaten tourist path were deserted, the main sights of Rome were as busy as those of Paris with people from all parts of the globe. hordes were sitting around the statuary and fountains of the Piazza Navona, on the steps of the Piazza d'Espagna and shopping in the chic boutiques of the Via dei Condotti.

One of the downsides of traveling at a time of year when the rest of the world has the same inclination is of course, just that -- everyone around you is a tourist, too. We tried desperately to find some respite from the maddening crowd, to no avail. Relinquishing, we sealed our journey with our reflections on Italy, the food, the sights and the Italians on the whole.

Graffiti is absolutely everywhere -- in every irreverent space. Even in the small towns, walls do not go unmutilated. It seemed to pointless and disrespectful, yet we know there is little that can be done about it, unless of course, the government were to crack down on the offenders in a serious way. We have no hope of that.

All our accommodations were booked in advance on the Internet, except for our stay in Assisi, which was arranged by our friend who lives there. Our goal was to spend less than 100€ per night, be center city, have air-conditioning and if possible, a bath tub. The site I found the best for reserving via the Internet was RomeBy.com, FlorenceBy.com, SienaBy.com -- WorldBy.com sites. Requests and reservations were confirmed online and all we had to do was show up, then pay by credit card.

When traveling by car, I learned to also allow for parking expense, which was as high as 24€ a day in Florence. In Siena, getting to and from the lot was an excursion half-way around the city and then by foot up and down the steep hills to the hotel. The stay in Assisi was actually in Santa Maria...just outside of Assisi and provided parking free of charge. All in all, we had inordinate luck with the car. Our "Fix-It-Again-Tony" took us far and wide without a hitch -- no thievery, no fender-benders, no flat tires.

Ten days in Italy was plenty enough to fully realize our appreciation of life in Paris, in France and with the French. I found myself looking forward to a meal without pasta so I could regain my girlish figure. We began to desire the French sense of order in exchange for the anarchy of Italian life. While one can enjoy the warmth and friendliness of the Italians, one must be wary of being taken advantage of in small and petty ways, at which the French aren't very inclined.

What will be my everlasting memories from these ten days under the Tuscan sun and in the shade of Umbria?...fields of sunflowers, frothy cappuccinos, swirling plates of pasta, tall creamy gelati, beautiful tanned and muscular men, beautiful art, stunning statuary and the heat.