Sept 29 -- The Vatican and the Borghese

The Vatican and the Borghese Gallery Sept 29.
Was that too much in one day?
One of the Michigan group had arranged a guided visit to the Vatican museum and the Sistine Chapel for the morning and I was invited. Frank had made reservations for the Borghese museum for 5pm and they could not be changed. So, big day!
The day before, on the bus into Rome, we had driven by the two-block line of tourists without guides attempting to enter the Vatican. Hiring a guide bypassed the lines.
Our guide, Simon, from Belgium, was tall, blond, and easy to find in the crowd.









Clearly passionate about the art and history, he lectured us on things worth noticing. Among them, Michealangelo depicting women as men with breasts. He pointed out Michealangelo's self portraits in his paintings and also portraits of  those who offended him. There are no cameras allowed in the Sistine Chapel nor is there discussion so, in the plaza, he reviewed each scene on the chapel ceiling and how long Michelangelo spent painting each section.









Rafael, also painted self portraits, and those of his many girlfriends, into his paintings.
Simon pointed out the illusions: the wall and ceilings that appeared to be in relief, yet were merely painted and the Jesus's eyes on the tapestry that followed us down the hall.









I was amazed at the thousands of Greek and Roman antiquities in the halls of the Vatican. And appreciative that the Catholics preserved and kept them in spite of the fact that they cut off their genitals or  covered the pubic area with plaster fig leaves.

The Vatican museum seems to go on forever

Simon in front of a grumpy and portly Roman reproduction
 of the Greek god of wine
Fig leaf added by the Vatican

By the time we entered St Peter's Basilica we were checking watches as we anticipated our date at the Borghese.









So, we hurried through the largest church in the world, grabbed a sandwich at a stand and caught a cab.
At The Borghese, we rented recorders to guide us and checked all personal items--nothing, no phones or cameras allowed. Here, the marble statues of women were silky and romantic. Bernini's perlescent women have none of the masculine bulging muscles of Michealangelo's. Characters and Gods from ancient Greek and Roman legends either peacefully pose in the Renaissance tradition or, signifying the Baroque period, are sculpted in mid action--young David bites his lip and his muscles tense in concentration as he braces to defeat Goliath see  .http://www.galleriaborghese.it/borghese/en/edefault.htm or
  http://www.google.com/images?hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUS275&q=borghese+gallery&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=PcPNTNKeO4OusAO2s43mDg&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=6&ved=0CEcQsAQwBQ&biw=1019&bih=973
In another room, a life-size Apollo arms encircle Daphne,....while she is transformed into a laurel tree. The fine marble leaves of her hair ring like crystal, the recorder tells us.
Upstairs, I appreciated the emotion depicted by subtle color or light variation. Mary Magdelane's blush next to the dead Jesus' pallor and "The boy with a Basket of Fruit." The boy's cheeks mirror the fresh peach that he carries.
I've never had a more moving art museum experience!

Oct 28 -- To Rome

Rome Sept 28
Leaving Montebelli, we posed for a group photo. I wonder if Christian jumps into the center of every tour photo...

The VBT guide, Frank, meets us at the hotel in Rome. He orients us to the city with detailed maps and specific instructions like, "Spend the 25 Euros on the 3-day roma pass," and, "Don't tip!  Always make sure the waiters in the restaurant you choose are old." and, "Just walk across the road. Don't stop for the cars."
Six of the Michigan group and I opt to go on a walking tour around Rome with Frank. He walks backwards all over Rome, german-accented explanations coming at us as fast as the Rome drivers.
Frank points out many buildings designed by his favorite 16th century architect, Borghini. Borghini tricked the viewer by altering perspective or painting false windows on a facade. We dart through alleys and see places not on the list of Roman highlights, including, "Where Caesar was really murdered."
I wonder if I am the only one ignorant of the reason for the lack of skyscrapers in Rome. By treaty with the Vatican, nothing may surpass St. Peter's in height. It serves to preserve ancient structures, sometimes just a column here or there or a Roman wall used in building a Renaissance home.
Rome was not bombed during the World Wars because of the proximity of the Vatican.
Frank takes us through the Pantheon, where, on December 21, the winter solstice sun shines through the tall door and the summer-solstice noon sun floods on the floor from the hole in the cupulo. The pagan spirits were able to leave by the same hole so that the building could be consecrated when the Romans and Catholics joined forces in the time of Constantine.









Every few blocks there was another fountain. In one, four nude boys pose under a disc of falling water. Turtles seem to have been hurled up on the disc by the boys. Frank explained how, previously Renaissance art with the boys posed without action, the sculpture had been up-dated to baroque, by adding the turtles and the action associated with them.
At dark, we gazed at the fringes of the lit-up ancient ruins, then catch a bus to our hotel.

Sept 27 -- Castiglione Della Pescaia

The following day we biked to the fishing town of Castiglione della Pescaia. Christian informed us that the water between Corsica and Italy are to be referred to as The Tyrrhenian Sea, not the Mediterranean.

Castiglione della Pescaia

We biked to the resort and fishing town--30 miles. Harry, ER doctor from Vermont, decided to do a side route up-hill so his wife, Ann and I casually meandered to the coast alongside a Hungarian woman who works in a hotel. She guided us to our destination parking lot. We locked the bikes and, meeting up with Suzy and Dawn, whose husbands wanted to sample the beer at sea level, the four of us women continued on foot up steep cobblestone roads with lavender, rosemary, and bouganvilla draping over the walls and entrance-ways.

Suzy and Dawn

Ann and Dawn at the 10th century castle

At the top, another spectacular view across to the Tuscan Islands.

We met at a pizzeria for lunch--one of the few that make pizza for lunch. I have a four-cheese pizza which makes all previous Italian pizzas taste bland.
After the ride back We all said goodbye to our bicycles.

I congratulated myself on surviving the trip with no broken bones or skinned knees.  I climbed into the pool-size hot tub, took a sauna, and returned to the hot tub. In love with Montebelli, we discussed the three places we'd stayed  and decided that the five-star hotel was the worst part of the trip. We could have been at any resort in the world and there was no congenial and informative host to welcome us with wine tasting and hors d'oeuvres. They even charged extra for a bucket of ice.
Before dinner I made the twenty minute climb up to the 300 year old cork tree.
Later, over appetizers in the dining room, our host told us how his father had made the sign and had placed it in front of the tree at the top of the hill on September 9, 2001.
The sign reads, "We Can't Understand Why."

Sept 26 Montebelli

Montebelli Sept 26
I had chills again last night, skipped dinner, and decided to take the day off. It's the longest and steepest day, thirty nine miles, eight of which would be climbing up to Suvereto, an ancient town above the river Cornia. John, Suzy, and I rode in the van with Christian.

By the time we wound up the long incline to the snack spot, the intermittent showers had become downpours. Between them, Suzy and I took pictures and read names on the headstones, sarcophagi, and ash-drawers in a flower-filled cemetery that was terraced down the hillside. Catholic Suzy, whose father had designed churches, alternated between squealing from delight and crying due to the emotional setting.  A rod iron gate led us into a crypt belonging to the family Bertelli.  

Returning to the van, Suzy grabbed towels to dry the bikers' faces as they limped in. All except Mike, who--alone and first and squinting into the rain, sailed past without noticing our van.

 All were proud of their accomplishment and knowing they were at the top of the mountain, wanted to keep going before their hands stopped working. They squeezed out their socks, ate pineapple, bananas, and nutella,  compared wettest ride stories, and took off  on a long coast down the hill into a rainbow, the sun  starting to shine.

 Some muddy Italian mountain bikers passed us as the rain diminished near the end of our picnic and sneered at the VBT van and the bike trailer with a bunch of bananas hanging from it. I read their looks of disgust as, "pussies!"
The sun was drying the road as four of us rode the van to agritourismo Montebelli. There they dropped off the luggage and me and returned to the designated lunch spot.










Four German shepherd slept, ears twitching on the lawn of our hotel. The room had creamy stucco walls, oak trim, and hand-hewn oak beams. I spent the afternoon walking the grounds of the farm and climbing the road to the town on the hill.

After a glass of wine with four of the Michigan group our host served us bread with his organic olive oil and organic wine and told us about his parents leaving South Africa and falling in love with this farm and buying it 50 years ago.

They have planted thousands of olive trees and it took five years of using expensive organic fertilizers until they received the organic endorsement. They make little profit selling oil and wine but the Italian government subsidy of agritourismos  facilitates his profits from the hotel and spa. The toiletries in the room are all olive oil based. A dozen horses have free range through the hedge-enclosed 230 acres of olive trees.
Montebelli is truly a stunning and restful retreat. Check out it's English website.
http://www.montebelli.com/place.html

Sept 24 -- Tombolo Talasso Resort

Yesterday we left our bags in the lobby so that Christian and Luca could load them. Transferring to a seaside resort, Christian drove the van, while Luka made sure the straggling bikers didn't get lost.
The ride was about 46 km through more vineyards, olive groves, cork trees, and cypress.






Christian said it would be "Tuscan flat." I only had to walk my 24 speed bike twice. from the hilltops we gazed over an expanse of grey-blue trees adorned with green olives, forest green cypress, and the iridescent pines. The grape vines meandered across the hills on soil as red as Terra-cotta roof tiles.







Our lunch stop was in Bolgheri, along the estrada del vino (wine road). I joined Peg and Tim in a bar to taste the famous regional wines--sarcossi and olelieri, Ten Euros for a taste! Mike, from New Jersey, said that they sell for $100/ bottle here, $200 in the states. I can say that I've tried it before returning to simple Oregon pinots.







Lunch was pasta with porcini then we biked through cypress alley to the 5-star resort on the Tyrrhenian Sea where it's $50.00 to use the heated pools and $100 for a massage. I took a bath and climbed into bed at 4:30, feeling feverish.Feeling like I'd been up all night for the past week, I skipped the gnocchi-making lesson and dinner and slept for ten hours.  Which I have, with the time change.

Gnocci-making lessons

The deserted beach at the resort.
Too breezy and cool for sunbathing

I felt better in the morning and put on the red and black biking skirt that Sara had given me by way of Sonya in Zurich. If I don't wear it in Europe, where else? Our first stop was a bike shop where most of us bought jerseys for 50euros. I purchased and put on a red, white, and black one that matched my skirt.

Me, coming in for lunch at the olive oil factory last except for our guide who offered to push my bike and I gratefully accepted.

A table was set for us between the control panel and the conveyor and olive press. Our host had us taste different olive oils with bread and appetizers. He told us that the harvest would start in November and to never store olive oil in the refrigerator!
Lunch was fresh-made cheese-filled ravioli.

Biking back to the resort was relatively easy because we were coming out of the hills, returning to sea level. Good thing, because I wasn't feeling well again.

Sept 22--Picking grapes

    Dave, general surgeon from Michigan, and I joined the workers in the fields. A young man in a red shirt and jeans gave us scissors and explained, in halting English, to cut only mature green vermentino grapes from the main stem. Working side by side, we filled three plastic crates then picked clusters from the side branches to share with the group at the upcoming meeting.
     At 8:30 we abandoned the pickers to join our group to review our day's instructions. There was a 25km, 55km, and a 68km option. There were nine pages of instructions!
For example: at 9.6 km at the yield sign and T, with a roman bridge facing you, TR (turn right) onto "Via Della forestale" to enter the park.
 The instructions were to be carried in a velcro folder on our handlebars.
After Luka went over the route with us, Christian generally gave us a short Italian lesson.

Entering the coastal pine forest

Levels of beautiful start with bel or bella, then bella with an index finger pointing at the cheek, next fingers pointing and swiveling into both cheeks, and then, bellisimo. For the most beautiful one must kiss all  ten fingers, stand up with a wide sweep of your arms and, Christian said "and you must swivel the hips like-a so."
Still smiling and practicing, we collected our bikes for the ride to the town of Cecina on the Etruscan coast. We peddled along the Tyrrhenian Sea then entered a coastal pine forest.

Casale Marattimo. We hike it before lunch.

Next, we turned inland and climbed a challenging hill to our picnic place at the base of a hilltop, fifth-century town.

Dawn and me at the top of the hill. I am standing on the downhill slope.
 Half of us choose to bike the 13 km extension. I joined the rest of the group who ascended stone stairs to the winding streets of a town that overlooks an expanse of fields and distant sea.

Lunch by Luka and Christian

    Lunch was bruscetta with fresh tomatoes, salami, crackers with pesto, and a assortment of marinated vegetables.
John and Suzy decided to ride the van back. I peddled back along fields of dying tomato plants, the ground sprinkled with red tomatoes and garlic. We rode for miles on a bike path through the pines then came out and meet our guides at "the place of GOD", otherwise known as a gelato stand (Gelato Of the Day.)

Bryan and Sandy at the Gelato stand

During The last ten k I anticipated the cool water of the pool. But my ass was kicked and by the time I made it up the two flights of stairs to my room, I showered off the sweat and sleep for two hours.
More wine tasting precedes hors  d'oeuvres and dinner of fresh pasta, fish, and grilled chicken.
My camera had died at this point so Dawn Hansen let me load pictures into my iPad and most of the photos of my trip are taken by her.

Location:  agrihotel Elisabetta

Sept 21 -- Agrihotel elisabetta

Slept until 8:45 so I missed the 7:00 VBT meeting in the breakfast room. This must be common, I thought, jet-lagged vacationers sleeping in so I checked the schedule. Check-out at 10 and bus pick-up at noon.
Breakfast was espresso, prisciuto, crescents, eggs, and fruit. After checking out, I walked toward the walled city to find out that there was a convention of petroleum engineers and there are no tourist's allowed. Damn oil!

Christian and Luca were our handsome Italian guides. Six of nine couples that I spent the week with are doctors and their fifty-something year old wives from Michigan. The others are empty-nesters from New Jersey, Maryland, and Vermont.
A bus brought us through Tuscan countryside--vineyards, orchards, and fields of drying sunflowers, their heads bowed to the east like they had lost hope of the coming of a new day.
We spent the next two nights at an agrihotel. the air was thick with the smell of syrah grapes being crushed by the office door. I went up to my room directly above the grape crushing operation and looking out at a pool that mirrors the cloudless sky. There I changed into my black biking shorts and skimpy white bike shirt.

At 3:00, we met for orientation, bike, and helmet fitting, and to do a 12.5 km loop on cypress-lined roads through orchards and farms. The bike's momentum created just enough breeze to alleviate sweat. Someone should pinch me.

Christian and Luigi in wine cellar

By 5:30 I cool off by swimming a few laps in the pool then change for wine-tasting in an immaculate rock-walled cellar. Our host introduces us, in Italian, to his two white wines and one red. He explains the process of wine-making and aging. Christian, his elbow resting on Luigi's shoulder and his sneakered foot braced against his muscular calf,  translated every couple of sentences.
I could live in the wine cellar with it's cool tile floors and arched doorways.

Luigi (owner), Christian, and Luka (guides)

An appetizer table precedes dinner in an open-air dining room. Octopus, calamari, porcini, meatballs, onion pizza, and balsamic marinated cheese and greens were among the appetizers. Dinner was fresh pasta in a white bean sauce followed by wine-marinated beef and mashed potatoes. The dessert table was set with flan, a light cheesecake, fresh figs, a variety of sumptuous cheeses and tiramasu.
I will have to bike fifty miles tomorrow, I thought, after my third dessert. After dinner we heard the whirring of a motor and we looked up to see  the cedar-planked ceiling sliding from over our heads and the full moon and nearby Jupiter illuminated the sky.
We are invited to help pick grapes at 8:00 am.
 Our general route for the week, without the daily side trips, is marked on google maps:
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=Agrihotel+Elisabetta,+Cecina,+Italy&daddr=Agritourismo+Montebelli+Tuscany++Italy&geocode=FUN3lQIdgaCgACHvlXCnElXxlykpohhyLvzVEjGuICXdxTkmyQ%3BFemHjgIdhL2mACG0hLfbYWCV6w&hl=en&mra=ltm&dirflg=w&sll=43.121034,10.741882&sspn=1.70404,1.862183&ie=UTF8&z=10

September 20 Florence

First day in Florence
Got to hotel shortly after noon. The flights weren't too bad but that half an ambien helped me doze on the airplane while listening to a biography of Dante.
I met other bikers at the hotel but all doing a different rides and staying longer in Florence.
 Started exploring at 3:00 pm. Statues everywhere!  Cobblestone,brickwork, pavement, and rocks on all surfaces. No grass lawns, all flowers are in planters.
Fabulous cathedrals, museums, bridges, opera halls. Creamy stucco apartment houses hover over a muddy river.

After getting my bearings along the river, I wandered through the city and find myself amid Michaelangelo's statues. There is David, bigger than life! Thinking I was heading home, I crossed the piazza, rounded a cathedral and find myself returning to "David." He, and the other naked men, lions, babies, and women in shawls, must be reproductions. There are too many pigeons on them. Street venders sell postcards of close-ups of statuary genitals.

So, I made my way to Dante's house. He was born in 1365 to an established family. he wrote philosophy, poetry, and plays.  He became a doctor but he was at odds with the, then pope,  and there was a death sentence declared so, for the rest of his life, Dante avoided his fatwa by staying away from his home in Florence.
After I asked for directions to the river, I find I have walked a long way from the circle on my map that signifies my hotel (I forget it's name), my feet hurt, the sun is setting, and I am hungry.
Back down river--leather shops, shoe stores, gelatin shops, beautiful people, and a multitude of languages spoken.
The Galileo science museum.  I can't believe I'm in the place so many of the Italian Renaissance heroes lived and created, a century before Shakespeare, and I only have a day!
A block from my hotel, in familiar territory, I collapsed at an outdoor cafe and ordered a pizza margherita and a glass of wine. I sat next to a Russian couple with a 6 year old girl, from Mumbai. I chat with Australian tourists until after dark.