A slow bus in Tuscany

"Catching buses in Italy is not advisable" a local told us. "Oh you must take the slow bus to Siena it goes up to the hills and you stop in all the little villages" said another. Hmmm mixed messages, our favourite kind!

In the end we took the bus. It was the best way to get to Siena, one of Europe's best preserved medieval towns. Arriving at the bus station in Florence (or Firenze as it is pronounced in Italian) we found we were on the slow bus.

Having read about mad Italian driving, and experiencing a little of it on the fast train from Milan to Florence, we were slightly relieved to have missed the Siena Rapide.

The 'slow' bus took off and 'slowly' overtook everything from Florence to Siena. It 'slowly' moved from the slow lane to the fast lane and stayed there. The look of surprise on the face of the sports car drivers as the 'slow' bus 'slowly' hurtled past was something we didn't appreciate until much later.

In fact the 'slow' bus was so slow we thought it would 'slowly' topple over a couple of times. Even the locals woke up momentarily and frowned at the driver on these occasions. Digging deep and drawing on the Aussie Digger spirit we just went pale and started praying. Oh ... and we left indentations from our nails in the head rest of the seats in front.

Leaving the slow bus rather shakily we explored Siena and found that it does live up to it's reputation. Having spent a few enjoyable hours exploring the town and viewing all the amazing array of rennaisance art it was back to the bus station. 

"Oh great" we thought "no slow bus!". No, it was the 'Rapide'. Did this bus live up to it's name we hear you ask. Well ... no ... it got stuck in traffic.

Thanks to the shenanigans of French socialists our itinerary in Italy was shortened and meant we missed out on our planned visit to Montalcino, home of the famed 'Brunello'. This was incredibly disappointing but it did mean an extra day in Florence.

We put this extra time to good use by trying as many Italian reds as possible. In fact we were so impressed that we didn't taste a single white. We weren't the only ones, we didn't see a single person drinking white. We have no idea whether this says something about Italian white wines but it was probably due to everyone else being blown away by the quality and intense flavours of Chianti.

Actually it wasn't 'everyone'. We sat near a young American couple who, after travelling all the way from the good ol' USA, ordered a plate of zucchini and a sprite and a fanta. See, this is why Americans get themselves into so much trouble. They go to a place that has been making wine for near on 2000 years and they order a Fanta. We wanted to lean over and yell "get out!".

The fact that we couldn't get to Montalcino didn't stop us from hunting for a brunello. Our initial efforts were in vain, not because we couldn't find any but because of the cost. In restaurants bottles of brunello cost between €150 and €200. Ouch!

Eventually we found a bottle for the miserly sum of €42. "Lets have a go at this obvious quaffer" we thought. It was magnificent. It was like crawling into a velvet envelope. It was like the best kiss you've ever had in your life.

We liked it so much we had another bottle. If the cheapie was that good we can only imagine what the €200 would have been like! 

Overall impressions

All too quickly it was time to leave Italy and head for home and 33 hours later we made it. The flight was pretty uneventful except for a 'mad Italian slow bus' landing at Hobart airport. After getting over that and the shock that our holiday had ended we contemplated what we'd learned.

Italians are a bit mad. Fun mad, not scary or angry mad. Listening to them talk you expect a knife fight to break out at any moment but they're just discussing the weather or what's for lunch; 

Italians make the best pasta in the world. We're still getting over a white truffle stuffed tortellini with a porcini sauce we had in a rustic Florence restaurant frequented by the locals; 

Italians don't make the best pizzas in the world. The crusts are too thin and the toppings meagre at best. They're quite good and we liked the way they sell them by the slice, it makes for a great snack, but we've had better here in Oz;

Italians make consistently good red wine. Even the cheap house wine is worth drinking. They can certainly teach the French a thing or two;

Italians, no matter what their size or shape, don't suffer from self esteem or body image 'issues'. Their "we're here to look good and enjoy life" attitude was a refreshing change to the almost endless procession of whingers that grace our television screens and newspapers, and finally;

Italy is addictive. We can't wait to go back and take a proper look. When we do we promise we'll try their white wine.

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