ON THE ROAD WITH GIANNI - 13, August 2011

13th August, 2011 contd.   

Yesterday was one of those days we've come to call a Tuscan Gianni day. We share one of these each time we're here, but this one out did them all so far.

Gianni met us at the train station at 8:15 and we piled into his pick-up truck and began the journey.  The excuse for this one being to scout out possible seaside pensions where Joel and I could spend our last few days before returning to New York (do we have to?).

I'm not sure what the square mileage of Tuscany is, but it's impressive. More impressive is Gianni's knowledge of it, both past and present. To ride with Gianni is to be on horseback, with him turning in his saddle to point out where a lake used to be a few thousand years ago or that Etruscan town over there on the hill, or the way in which vineyards have gradually taken over the landscape turning ancient woods into pesticide-ridden, money-making ventures (many of which are now failing as not only are there too many of them, but many of the famous wines have been corrupted by "outside" grapes).

But it's not just his knowledge of the land that impresses; it's how many people he knows - everywhere! You can go to the biggest city or the smallest village and Gianni is greeted. Take yesterday. By the time we got to Grossetto, on the coast, I needed a bathroom. So he parks the truck in some side street, takes us through a back door and shows me to a bathroom. Turns out we're in a hair salon, the owner of which is chatting away to Gianni like a long lost brother, all the while executing perfect scissor-over-comb cutting technique on a client.

We leave Grossetto and drive toward Argentario where we stop at a seaside hotel - not for us - and again Gianni is greeted by the owner like a compatriot. We take a cafe and move onto a sweet little place at the edge of the sea, sitting amongst pine trees. The sea is turquoise and calm, there are just a few rooms and they are clean and quiet and inexpensive. We hope to return for the last few days of August.

Now we are all famished. So off we go to a family-style hotel filled with masses of Italians only, also on the edge of the sea. The place is a cross between Coney Island and a Fellini film. There are three possible areas in which to eat, but of course, we don't go to them. No, Gianni takes us straight to the staff table where once again there is much hugging and gesticulation and before you know it we are scoffing down a bowl of pasta with clam sauce. Buonissimo!

We drive on to Porto Stefano, double back to Orbitello and stop at an outdoor antique market where, knowing no-one upon arrival, Gianni manages to make friends with two antique dealers. I buy a pair of vintage sunglasses for Gianni and a hand-embroidered handkerchief for Luana.

Deciding we need fish for dinner we stop at a nondescript, road-side fish market. Yes, of course, Gianni knows the owner.  We buy something that looks like swordfish for dinner and bottarga for future use.

By now we've all had enough of people and commerce and so our dear friend lets his truck have its head and it takes us onto a backroad of such glorious landscape and serenity I feel like I am inside Ravel's Bolero.  For two hours we will see no-one, nor will we see a car in either direction. It is one of those roads which seems to have been travelled in other lifetimes. We travel in silence. And then we stop. Still in silence we walk across the road and stand perhaps 2 feet apart with our faces to the sun. In front of us, a crevice running down between to hills has made of itself a wind-tunnel and the wind comes rushing at us, roaring past our ears, vying in power with the force of the sun, while all around us nature sings the music of insects and birds.

We stand like this for perhaps 10 minutes. We embrace as a trio and continue our journey.

To be continued...