Forty-Six: Better Late than Never

So this has been sitting in 'Drafts' for well over a year...

In May of 2011, Kim's brother Kevin (Kim calls him 'Didi') flew in from Hawaii. We spent a week seeing the sights and doing the things one does when visiting Amsterdam. Then we packed our tents (Didi purchased a $20 Walmart Junior - 'to be used under adult supervision only' - just for this trip) and drove to Italy. Germany was an autobahn blur, Switzerland overly Swiss - alpine lakes, blooming meadows, and perfectly groomed sheep grazing mountain slopes. The Swiss road was smooth, the curves minimal - they've punched sleek space-agey tunnels though mountain after mountain. Generally it left a Stepford Wife impression. But just as we were being lulled into submission - and with little warning - we bounced off that silky thoroughfare onto a swathe of cracked, patched, potholed tarmac and into the first of many leaking, peeling, unvented tunnels; "Italy!"

Our first stop was the Cinque Terre, Manarola our home base. Steep and narrow alleys, terraced vineyards, footpaths and overlooks. We bragged on the view from our room several times a day. We frequented tiny Trattoria Dal Billy, run by surly fishermen who make fresh pasta to go with their daily catch. We hiked the coastal path to Riomaggiore. We took the train to Montorosso, Vernazza and Corniglia. We ranked them.

#1. Manarola: Kind of sleepy, but with personality. It's probably #1 because we got to know it best.

#2. Vernazza: This is Rick Steve's favorite (every tourist in the Cinque Terra has his book tucked under an arm). A postcard harbor, a lively Piazza, and plenty of secret winding alleys.

#3. Riomaggiore: A lot like Manarola and Vernazza, but with less personality (though we were only there for a few hours; it could have more going on than we realize).

#4. Corniglia: Poor Corniglia. Because it takes no small effort to reach (382 stairs or a switchback road), there's not much going on. Also the layout's a bit claustrophobic. I love it because of a magical stay there 10 years ago during a backpacking trip with cousins (we were the only visitors in town, the weather was perfect, we ate well, got to know people who live there, etc.), but I was outvoted. 

#5: Montorosso. Resorty, with a typical boardwalk scene, a beach and an 'old town' that looks a lot like the other villages.

Next was Tuscany. We drove to Buggiano de Colle, a teeny tiny walled hill town with one restaurant serving straightforward regional fare and cheap as hell home brewed wine. We stayed in Fulvia's Antica Casa le Rondini. Fulvia used to be a teacher... I want to say 'schoolmarm' but perhaps that's too harsh. She's friendly, just somewhat austere. We tiptoed and whispered and were always vaguely fearful of reprimand. We took a couple of day trips to Florence; visited David at Academia, climbed to the top of the Duomo, shopped San Lorenzo market and met up with our sometimes travel buddy Amanda for a note worthy dinner at La Congrega. Our Uffizi Gallery experience was hijacked by Kim's vanishing act during a restroom break. Over 40 minutes Didi (new to travel and a little on edge) and I (in the midst of reading serial killer fiction) spiraled into total panic. He was on the verge of asking the guards if we could review security tape footage when she finally texted, 'Where are you guys? I'm standing in front of The Birth of Venus!'

We spent a few rainy hours in Volterra, which I hear was semi-quiet before Twilight's New Moon.

We stopped in Lucca. The walled-city and the old Guinigi family tower are impressive, but none of us quite understood what all the fuss is about. Maybe you need to stay a few days to get it.

For his first camping experience ever, we took Didi to a lakeside site in Umbria. 'Lakeside Campsite in Umbria' sounds nice, doesn't it? Well, perhaps if you had a camper like 99.9% of the other (retired German) guests it would be. For us, it was three long nights of Invasion of the Overgrown and Horrendously Appendaged Insects and a daily pre-dawn cacophony of waterfowl. It was mud and rain and an inelegant strain of 'cabin fever'. A spider the size of my fist and carrying an equally large egg sac decided to lay up under our rain fly for the hatching (a very exciting relocation project ensued). Then either a vole or a mole tried to surface under our tent. By the third night, when a giant muskrat emerged to snack on the reeds outside Didi's toy Walmart tent, he was relatively unfazed. "Is that thing dangerous? No? Alright then."

We visited Gubbio on market day. We hadn't heard or read much about it, but it turned out to be a great stop. The Corsa dei Ceri had taken place only days before and there were remnants of it everywhere. And as hill towns do, it had the views.

One of the trip's best days was in Assisi. The weather was perfect, the crowds light, the views sweeping, the Basilica impressive, the meals stellar (lunch at Trattoria da Erminio and dinner at Locanda del Podesta).

By now we were about burned out on hill towns and gelato and pizza and art. Proof that you can eventually get sick of anything. Luckily we landed at Lavanda Blu in the southern Marches (Didi blowing through a toll road Telepass gate and incurring a 45 Euro fine en route).

Lavanda Blu - a B&B/mini-camping spot near Carassai - is run by hippie-leaning couple Hans (from Amsterdam) and Elizabeth (from New York via many years in Rome). They're generally likeable but they're also totally out of it. Example: The provided GPS coordinates failed to get us there. We called. "We seem to be lost" Kim said. "Oh yeah!" Elizabeth responded, " Those coordinates don't actually get you here. They just get you close. And since our sign isn't posted yet... I'll send Hans to get you! Don't move!" So we parked ourselves in front of a good landmark - an abandoned castle - and waited. And waited. And waited. A Carabinieri patrol car whizzed by. Screeched to a halt ("Shit"). Reversed at high speed and expertly blocked our 'escape route'. Three officers exited the vehicle and ominously lit up cigarettes as they strolled toward us. I squealed with delight. Kim took my squirming as a sign of imminent 'police encounter rage', and whispered, "NOT ONE WORD!!!" She calmly rolled down her window to explain our situation. Alas, none of the officers spoke English.  I quickly sat on my hands,which threatened to clap wildly of their own accord. The fellow in charge jabbered at us in Italian. Kim replied slowly and loudly in English. They confiscated our passports. They conferred over the hood of their car and gave us sidelong glances. Meanwhile Kim called Hans, who was waiting down the road in front of some other abandoned castle. When he finally showed, he exchanged a few words with the Carabinieri, then sauntered over and leaned down to explain, "they say that if you fail the test for post office employment, you become Carabinieri". See what I mean by 'generally likeable'? They harassed Hans for a while longer, then begrudgingly let us go.

Lavanda Blu. Now this is a campsite. Fireflies, not spiders. Grassy meadows, not mud. Twittering songbirds, not honking geese. Two parties of tent-campers, zero camper-campers. And Elizabeth and Hans feed you! Home-cooked (8-hour) lasagne, wine from their organic vineyard. We spent three mellow days there, played badminton, visited nearby towns, had some nice meals and generally loved on the quiet Marches before climbing back into the car and burning home to Amsterdam.  We demanded Didi tell us it was the best trip ever. Exhausted and beat down by all the walking, camping, eating and driving, he acquiesced.