The magical lure

Last Thursday, Delta and I boarded our much anticipated flight to Pisa. It had been a while since I'd last been to Europe, and I was looking forward to the nostalgically familiar sights and scents of the Olde World. We had only three days in which to complete our Christopher Columbus explorations of Tuscany, so there was not a moment to be lost.

Immediately after checking in to the hotel, we headed out into the awaiting world with a filled agenda. No rest for the weary (and by 'weary', I mean mainly Delta, who had stayed awake piloting the flight over, but also me, who slept the entire way but still somehow could have slept more).

First, we headed to Lucca, an ancient town which has somehow succeeded in resisting the modernizations of the world around it, cloistered as it is within its centuries-old city walls. We wouldn't have made it to Lucca at all, if it hadn't been for one of Jeet's friends we bumped into a couple of weeks prior, who told us the town was a must-see. And so it was.


I won't lie to you, navigating the Italian train system posed some serious impediments even for ye hardened (and enthusiastic!) travellers. There was a fair share of confusion and kerfuffle at the station, but somehow Delta and I managed to procure ourselves a couple of train tickets (still not sure if it was for the right date or location, but the fact that we paid at all somehow legitimised the endeavour), and jumped onto the first train heading to Lucca.

As an aside, once we managed to wrap our heads around the system, we found the Italian train structure to be extremely efficient: punctual, inexpensive, clean, and (if you got on the right train) quick. And we should know - over the next three days we spent a considerable amount of time appreciating the intricate nuances of the trains. I re-learnt my lesson of old, for example - that one mustn't go to the bathroom in the train whilst it is stopped at a station.

The highlight of the trip was Cinque Terre. With all the luck in the world at our backs, we managed to catch it at on a beautiful day. The sky was a brilliant azur, the ocean sparkled in shades of blue as far as the eye could see, and the mountains were resplendent with golden sunshine. Whith the breeze at our faces and the fresh and salty scent you can only get at the seaside.


We walked from one fishing village to the next, sometimes the path took us along the cliff edge, and at other times up the mountain side meandering through olive groves and vineyards And when we reached the fishing village at the end, we just shared a bottle of prosecco and sat out in the piazza, slowly absorbing the peaceful magnificence of everything around us. It was only later in the evening, once we had watched the sun set at the far end of the ocean, could we tear ourselves from the scene to begin the journey home.


Florence was a large, metropolitan masterpiece of art, thronging with people within its narrow streets. The entire city lay in the shadow of the spellbinding Duomo, of which we would catch surprising glimpses every once in a while when we turned a street corner. Being as it was a Sunday, the steps of the Duomo were closed for climbing. We both feigned disappointment at this, but our wobbly legs, enfeebled by the previous day's hike in Cinque Terre, were secretly thankful.

We had planned to end our day in Florence with a glass of wine in a cosy winebar (enoteca, we learned) away from the tourist hub of the city. Almost inevitably the first glass turned to a second, which turned to a bottle of wine, which extended into dinner and dessert. Such was the magical lure of the little winebar.

Even in just those three days, we had already started planning our next trip back. Already started talking fantastically about the day we would set up home in Italy. Such was the magical lure of Toscana.