Just the ticket!

I hope this blog publishes more successfully than my last one as I have a few 'lost' hours to report on and a stern telling off by an Italian official.

Let's go back to the lost blog first though, shall we?

Had my blog published correctly you would have heard how I took a guided coach trip to Siena as it is too difficult to reach by train. As a result of being guided I learned a lot more than I did during my previous day's amble around Florence. And in my blog I shared some of the many things I learned. If you have a microscope handy you may wish to read it.

The tour of Siena included a brief stop for a wine tasting and a chance to buy some Chianti and Super Tuscan wines.

I enjoyed my trip and readily signed up for another on Thursday, this time for a full on visit to a vineyard and also to Vinchi, birthplace of Leonardo.

Our 'guide' for this trip was the very amiable Roberto, a self employed chauffer who turned up in an imaculate suit to ferry the 6 of us around on behalf of the tour company. Roberto reminded me of an Italian Tony Robinson of Black Adder and Time Team fame. He was utterly professional and had a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

Our previous wine tasting was just that - small amounts of 3 wines with the chance to purchase any we liked.

The vineyard was different altogether. After a cursory tour around the stuff they make wine with we were seated on the terrace, overlooking the glorious Tuscan countryside and served with lavish plates of bruchetta, olives, melon and meats. Roberto was left in charge of dishing out the vino. No small samples with Roberto, just big glasses full and when we had sampled 4 bottles he insisted that we should have 2 more bottles of the good stuff. All fine and good. 6 people who didn't know each other very well all suddenly became best mates for life. Roberto, I must say, stuck to the water.

Then, out came the big guns. 4 orange flavoured liquors into which you dipped ameretto biscuits. Wow! I wrote down their names as Mandarino, Arancello, Nespole and Vicente. They were all 40 per cent proof apparently. The sort of drinks that taste great sat on a Tuscan hillside but have a habit of tasting bloody awful on a cold night in Wakefield.

Our final drink was grappa. The firewater.

It was a brilliant way to pass an afternoon - good company with fine food and drink under a Tuscan sky. I'll never forget it, which is more than I can say for the remainder of the afternoon, which I can barely remember.

Roberto dutifully took us to old Leo's birthplace, but quite frankly by then I couldn't give a toss where the bugger was born.

I wandered down one street, back along a higher street and I visited a chapel. That's all I can tell you about Vinchi.

I was drunk but gratefully I wasn't ill. This was not true of a poor Scottish chap in the group who took to Roberto's generous measures with more gusto than most and ended up not very well at all. Luckily, he was unwell outside of Roberto's pristine Mercedes people carrier.

Having eaten back at the hotel I duly went to bed early and woke up 11 hours later as fresh as a daisy.

This morning it was back to the train station and a journey to Pisa. On the journey I was musing how confident I had become with the Italian train system and how I had travelled much further on this holiday than I thought I would. Quite the seasoned traveller. What's that saying about pride and a fall?

Once at Pisa I expected the leaning tower to be like the Eiffel Tower, visible everywhere. Not so. I set off in it's general direction and at one point even began to tail a family with a map, thinking they'd be headed for Pisa's most famous landmark. I think they sussed me as they stopped to read a menu and I had to pass by.

Eventually I reached an area where people appeared to be engaged in some some form of tai chi - posing with their flat palms in mock support of something unseen and smiling broadly. It took me a while to twig they were posing for photos, which would show them holding up the leaning tower. Oh, how the folks back home will laugh when they see!

Sadly, Wainwright wouldn't oblige by posing for the silly photo.

The fact that there were no queues waiting to climb the tower encouraged me to seek out the ticket office and cough up the 15 Euro for the privelege. But tours are strictly regulated and there wasn't one available until about 6 pm. I visited the Cathedral instead - only 2 Euro.

After a quiet kip on the grass (I think I've already gotten out of the rhythm of working all day long) I went back to the station.

In Italy train tickets are bought by distance, not destination. For example from here to Florence is a 50 km ticket and to Pisa it is a 60 km ticket. Each ticket is validated by popping it into a small yellow machine on the platform of the departing station.

On the homeward journey I forgot to validate my ticket. But no matter, there is hardly ever a guard to check them. Ooops! Wrong.

The dour guard inspected my ticket and launched into a lengthy lecture. I knew what I'd done wrong but I wasn't sure what the outcome was going to be. A fine maybe? I shrugged my shoulders and uttered the only words I could think of that might be suitable - mia culpa! (twice).
It must have been obvious that I didn't understand a bloody word this bloke was saying but still he droned on. Eventually he gave me a look that said 'imbecile' and stomped off down the carriage. I think he enjoyed it more than I did. Although to be honest even though I was getting a good telling off I was actually thinking - ooo, at least I'll have something interesting to write in my blog.

There, job done.

Live long and prosper.