(25 April 2024)
In September 2022 we travelled to Tuscany in Italy for an extended holiday. I didn’t write up any notes here at the time; now’s the time to fix that. So then.
This was always going to be a train trip. Wheels on steel, all the way to Italy. It takes many hours - but fewer than you might expect.
Sadly, the inadequate setup of St Pancras International station in central London threatens to remove all hope of a romantic rail getaway from the start. The facilities are cramped and overcrowded. Not enough seats in a tiny, stuffy windowless holding area beneath the platforms. When your train is delayed - which ours was - the wait is uncomfortable. What a very British beginning.
But once on board, the international train feels properly wonderful. North London and Kent zip past in moments, the tunnel itself is just a few minutes underground. And then you’re in northern France and it’s still zipping by. We enjoyed some lunch and some chit chat and before you know it: Paris.
We didn’t stop to look around there. Straight onto the Metro and swap stations to Gare du Lyon. Another train, all the way to Turin, direct.
The first half of that journey is more of the same: super fast, the French countryside a blur of agriculture through the window. You’re in Lyon before you can blink. But it’s what happens after Lyon that’s the most interesting bit.
The line starts to get twistier, going imperceptibly uphill. The train slows. Then slows some more. The curves are frequent and you notice them, because the view through the window is now often the other half of the train, following along behind on the same curve.
It takes many hours to cross the Alps like this, and it was by far the best bit of the journey. My infrastructure-focused mind was constantly asking questions: how did they build this line, all the way through these mountains? How did they decide the route? Why this route, and not another? We were very lucky: not long after our trip, a landslip closed this section of line for many months, making this particular journey impossible for a while. I’m glad we managed it.
From the train, you can watch as the valleys get steeper, narrower, tighter. The Alps extend their arms out and pull you inwards and upwards. The train gets sucked in and hauled through narrow gaps. We stopped for a while at Modane, about two-thirds of the way across the mountains, where an ancient fort looms above, as if providing cover for rail passengers. I found myself thinking about mountain life: a different lifestyle. People who live coast lives think about tides and dry robes. People who live mountain lives presumably think about predicted inches of snow, and ski lift passes, and think that twisty zig-zag roads are how all roads should be. Maybe. I can’t say for sure, I’ve never lived a mountain life.
Finally, after more hours crossing the Alps that we spent speeding on the flat from Paris to Lyon, we arrive in Turin. Tired, with sore backsides, but ready to explore. After a night’s sleep.
We really liked Turin. The centre is quite compact, so very walkable. We walked a lot. We always walk a lot.
Most big central streets have covered walkways on either side, protecting pedestrians from summer and winter elements. Italian cafe culture loves these walkways, part-filling them with chairs and tables. We weaved our way through. Kate was in her element (her element is Italy) with the endless wafts of warm air and Italian conversation. She listened in, testing herself.
The night we arrived, the Queen died. I don’t think either of us knew what to make of it. Neither of us were particularly strong royalists. I felt something, but I think it was more sympathy for the family who’d miss her, rather than any sense of a lost Queen. I took a screenshot of GOV.UK, knowing that there would be a team there spun up in moments, and working very hard for the next few weeks.
The next day we explored down by the river. The sunshine was gorgeous, the whole city sparkled. The River Po is wide and grand, spectacularly clean, and as far as I could see, mainly used for pleasure. There are boats rides, canoeists, kayakers. It’s a big wet park for the whole city, and that feels like a good thing. Imagine if the Thames was like that. It would have to be much cleaner first.
We ate twice at Ristorante Alba, tucked away in the side streets near Porta Nuova station. These were the finest meals I’ve ever had in Italy - nothing fancy, just decent fresh food and a lovely carafe of local wine. Just fantastic. If you’re in Turin, you should eat here.
The plan was to catch a train from Turin to Lucca, but strikes got in the way. We had to get a coach the whole way, which was a much longer and much less comfortable way to travel. I didn’t enjoy it, to be honest. But we did get to see the sea as we crawled through a traffic jam in the centre of Genoa.
A fleeting view of Genoa
Lucca was our base for a few nights. Kate had visited a few times before, on work trips, so she knew the town well. It’s a classic walled Italian town - in a valley, not perched on a hill top. The town centre is mostly pedestrianised (in the Italian sense, that some cars and plenty of mopeds still come through - but people have priority). Beyond the walls, there’s more town, a mixture of housing and industry. The bus station where we arrived was outside the walls, but still only a short walk to our accommodation.
I liked Lucca a lot. It’s got plenty of charm and character. Just mooching around the old town took up an enjoyable day or so, and we took our time, drinking it in. Often literally: one of the themes of this trip was regular early evening stops for an Aperol spritz, usually served Italian style with a small plate of nibbles. This is a tradition I’d like to see spreading to UK pubs, please.
Thanks to her previous work trips here, Kate knew one of the locals - Katia. We arranged to meet up with Katia and her husband, and they took us to a bar serving locally brewed beers. Absolutely delicious. Katia’s excellent English and Kate’s excellent Italian made up for the complete inability of either of us attendant blokes to speak a word of the other’s language. We got by, as you always do. It was a lovely evening.
From Lucca we got a train - no strikes today - to Arezzo. The rules at the time said you had to wear a face mask while on the train, but plenty of people weren’t bothering.
Lunch in Arezzo
We stopped for lunch in Arezzo, at the superb Borgo S Piero, before picking up a hire car for the final leg - a drive to the mountains just outside Cortona, where we’d rented a house for a few days.
The drive was easy once we’d got out of central Arezzo. I might have cut up a few locals with some poor decisions at a few junctions, sorry folks. I was just getting my bearings. Then an easy run to Cortona, another classic Italian hill top town that we’d spend plenty of time in over the next week or so. But the house we’d rented was about 20 minutes away – up high in the mountains, quite a long way from anything and anyone else.
It was a staggering place, actually. Too large for the two of us really. It had a swimming pool, amazing views across the valley to further mountains beyond. As the sun set and the sky turned a succession of incredible colours, we decided we’d made an excellent choice. This would be home for a while, and we planned to properly relax and enjoy some peace and quiet.
Although it wasn’t a complete disaster, this final part of the trip didn’t work out the way we’d planned it.
The day after we arrived, I excitedly headed down to the swimming pool for a morning dip. While splashing around, I noticed something floating on the water’s surface. Moving closer, it was an insect - a scorpion, in fact. It was tiny, sandy-brown, and I was pretty sure it was dead. But still. I didn’t fancy getting much closer. There was one of those net things by the pool, which I used to fish out my spiky-ended friend, and hurl him over the hedge. That’s the end of that, I thought.
No it wasn’t.
It turned out that scorpions are common in these parts, and they were everywhere. We started to notice loads of those small sandy ones down by the swimming pool. But more disturbingly, we noticed other, larger, jet-black ones in the house. Kate warned me about checking my shoes, and I laughed because I thought that was such a cliché. But the next morning, I turned a shoe upside down - and out fell a scorpion. The other shoe - another. “Fuck me,” I said.
Kate contacted the property owner who was dismissive. “They won’t hurt you,” he said in a text message. But we were at best apprehensive, and at worst downright scared of these little things. While I was cooking one evening, a big fella ran across the kitchen floor right in front of me, and I stamped on it, splat. I would show you an unpleasant picture - but it’s unpleasant. This was a truly beautiful house in an amazing location, but the scorpion thing really put a downer on it. We weren’t enjoying ourselves as much as we’d like, because we found we couldn’t relax properly. Every movement required a check: can I sit here, without sitting on a scorp? Can I walk there, without walking into one? It was unnerving.
We spent our days exploring local towns. Cortona several times, because it was closest, and that included a visit to the very impressive MAEC Museum in the centre, and a few takeaways from a tiny place selling freshly made pasta - Bottega della Pasta Fresca. Delish. Off in the car to Castiglione del Lago, a small hilltop town overlooking a lake on one side, and the endless flat plain on the other. Great views, and great gelato.
Just as our misgivings about the scorpion-riddled accommodation were reaching a high point, we got news from home. Kate’s dad was very ill. It was serious. That news made a decision for us, so we cut short our remaining time in Italy and headed home the next day - more or less back the same way. Return the car to Arezzo, train to Turin, train to Paris. We had to break the journey for a night there, and stayed in an overpriced and not very good hotel close to Gare du Nord. The next morning, finally, back under the channel to London, then home. Kate immediately went to see her dad.
Scorpions or not, this was a good trip. Italy is Kate’s favourite place in the world, and it’s grown on me a lot after many trips there. I like the Italian way of doing cities, and living life. I like the Italian way of eating out, often, at reasonable prices. I like the weather and the train network. Pretty much the only thing I don’t like is the scorpions.
So this won’t be our last visit, I’m sure of that. But we might think twice about booking very remote, rural places to stay. Maybe stick to somewhere a bit less scorp-friendly in future.
giles (at) gilest.org