Cycling The Road Less Travelled

The next morning we began our ride to Sienna. Shortly after we started, it began to rain again. We didn’t mind at all at first, it was actually quite atmospheric. It soon turned into a deluge though; the pouring rain, slick roads and wind made it difficult to stay on the bike and we ended up having to wait it out for a couple hours in a small town near Sienna. Eventually, it subsided and we were able to finish our ride in this stunning area; the whole region is a World Heritage Site.

We checked the weather report for the next couple of days, Rain, rain, rain and a bit more rain. Okay, now it really is time to go. To cycle to France from here would mean long stretches on busy coastal roads. It would probably take about 8 days, only about two of which would be nice. Had we the time, we would have considered riding it anyway, but we don’t. Tomorrow we would catch the train and make our way to Ventimiglia, near the Italy-France border.

It rained as we set up our tent, rained as walked around beautiful Sienna, rained as we got dinner. We got back to the campground late at night to find our tent was now pitched in a middle of a huge pool of water. Everything was wet and we had to wake up at 5:00 am to catch the train…sigh. One of the more miserable nights we’ve had in a tent, but if that was the price for the wonderful days we’ve had here, then so be it. Tuscany and Umbria had been the highlight of our trip to Europe thus far.

We’re horribly “behind schedule”. What we said would only be a short detour has already been close to two weeks. La Marche, Umbria and Tuscany have been…extraordinary, better then we remembered. “Oh, just one more day here. But we have to see Orvieto. What’s another day detour?” We just couldn’t help ourselves. But, today we decided that we were going to be strong, stick to our plan and make it to Sienna. We weren’t going to be weak; there are other places we want to see too.

As per the past couple of days, the cycling was glorious; more beautiful scenery, more smiles and more “Buon Giorno“s and “Dove vai?”s. Yet more memories to add to my treasure chest of beautiful memories.

By midday we strolled into Moltacino. It’s stunning…damn! We picked up some mouthwatering pizza to-go and furiously tried to see the town before we had to leave for Sienna. I ran up and down the streets, Spiros frantically took pictures. How could we leave a place like this? Was this trip just about getting somewhere or enjoying the moment? It wasn’t long before we were at the tourist office getting a list of bed and breakfasts. Campground was too far; this place is worth the splurge.

We walked into the “Il Palazzo” Bed & Breakfast and were greeted with a huge smile and a “Buon Giorno”. “Scusi, signore, non parlo italiano? Affitti Camere?” “Si” , he replied warmly and welcomed us in. “This is my house” he said proudly. “It’s four storeys. From fifteenth century.” He then guided us through a beautiful maze of hallways and rooms, filled with family photos, paintings and antiques. Fifteenth century; how many generations have lived here, how many newlyweds, how many children have run through the halls? Imagine the joy, the love, and the squabbles; if only these walls could talk. We unpacked and quickly left to walk around Montalcino. The panic that was in Spiros eyes before was gone, now we inched our way through town.

We were in the center at night, when suddenly the square filled up and they started to set up tables and play music. What’s this? It seems like they were having a cooking contest or something of the sort; the food and wine was free and everyone was invited. How could we be this lucky? Shortly after the festivities, the lightening and thunderstorm that had been threatening all day began; sheets of water came pouring down. What a sight, it couldn’t have been more dramatic. We sought refuge in a gelateria. When we finally decided to get up and brave the storm, the husband and wife who ran the shop stopped us, brought out two huge garbage bags, and proceeded to wrap us up in them. “Grazie, Grazie!” we exclaimed as we all laughed at how ridiculous we looked wrapped in neon green plastic. As we ran through the streets to the bed & breakfast, I heard “Maria, Maria!” being called out with a beautiful Italian accent; the owner of the guesthouse had come out with an umbrella to find us.

I laid awake at night listening to the thunder and watching the rain gush down through the old window of our lovely room. Another gorgeous day in Tuscany; sometimes it pays to be weak.

From Gubbio, we’ve been cycling through gorgeous towns like Todi, Trevi, Assisi, Orvieto and Pitigliano. The cycling in this part of the world is…what can I say…near perfect. The landscapes are incredible. I really can’t do them justice and neither do the all the calendars and postcards you see. The actual cycling itself is a dream; challenging but not too challenging, with long sweeping descents down quiet, winding roads. Then there is the wine and the food. Everything just tastes so much better here; grapes, tomatoes, basil, olive oil…all of it. You take a bite out of something as simple as bruschetta and you just can’t believe that anything could taste that good.

And then there is the people. They have been exceptionally warm and friendly, always smiling, waving, saying “Buon Giorno”, going out of their way to help us if they thought we needed it. Everyone just seems…happy. We’ve been wondering why that is. Is it waking up in such a stunning place every day? I can see how that would put a smile on someone’s face. Is it the wine? The food? I know I for one am much more pleasant with a belly full of gnocchi con gorgonzola. Hmmm…maybe it’s just living in a place where the pace of life is just a bit slower. Where people take the time to enjoy all the little things; fresh flowers, a nice bottle of Chianti, a walk in the morning sun with a friend, beauty for beauty’s sake. Yeah, that must be it.

First thing, let me just say that a) yes, we’re talking about food again and b) this one is for Dougy.

It was a really hot day and we had cycled a long way so today we decided we would really treat ourselves and go all out on gelato: “Three flavours…oh, and a waffle cone too…yeah”. So after pitching up our tent, we walked into town and staked out all the gelaterias like we usually do. We were convinced we had the right gelateria when we found one proudly displaying a sticker on the door indicating they had won an award for their coffee flavour gelato. “Looks promising!”, we thought. We went in and did our usual check;

1. Look for signs saying “Produzione Artigianale.” (i.e. made the old-fashioned way with natural ingredients). Sign found. Produzione Artigianale: check

2. Check the variety of flavours: Nero, caffe, straticella, tiramisu…yup, all our favourites. Variety of Flavours: check

3. Check the color and consistency. Colors look natural and consistency looks good. Color and consistency: check

4. And finally, look for the spatula. Here I should explain. We noticed that the best gelaterias use a spatula-like utensil to pack down and scoop the gelato. (It’s a little messy but you end up with a mountain of gelato). Our experiences have been so consistent that we have come to equate the presence of the spatula with a good gelataria that takes pride in their gelato and the presence of the ice cream scooper with a bad gelateria. (Kinda like a French patisserie wrapping their croissants in plastic. That just ain’t right! Clearly a patisseur that raps his croissants in plastic just doesn’t love his croissants. But anyway, I digress…back to “Tragedy in Italian Gelateria”). Presence of the spatula: check

So, we go ahead and order the first gelato. “Nero, caffe e straticella per favore”. She grabs the waffle cone. Oh, the excitement! We’re all atingle with anticipation. We look at each other and smile. Then what should happen?!!! She reaches behind the counter and, to our shock and dismay, brings out…the melon-baller. Our faces drop and I can hear both of us gasp in horror. “What is this?!!! Mama mia! No!! No!! Use the spatula! The spatula!” we both pleaded in our heads. But alas, we were both to shy to say anything; we just stood there in total shock, like deer caught in headlights. She scooped up a tiny little ball of nero and dropped it into the cone, it disappeared into this now seemingly huge waffle. She then scooped up the caffe and straticella…again they disappeared like pebbles tossed into the Grand Canyon. She then asked if she could fill the gapping holes with whipped cream. “No, grazie”, we whimpered. She handed us the cone, we paid and left without ordering the second gelato. We tried to recover from this devastating blow by going to another gelateria for the second cone, but alas the damage was done, our hopes and excitement had been dashed. Truly a tragedy in an Italian gelateria.

Cycling is a treasured sport in Italy. You only need to be here a short period to realize just how much the Italians love “La Bicicletta”. The number of local cyclists, the countless bike shops, the graffiti on the roads in the Dolomites encouraging their favourite Giro d’Italia racer. We’ll be cycling past a group of men having their morning espresso at a coffee shop and someone will always smile and scream out “Forza, Forza!” (be strong) and wave their hand. We’ll be climbing up a steep hill, a car will pass, the window will be rolled down and we’ll hear “Bravo”. Believe it or not, I even got a “Bravo Bellisima” a few days ago! Too sweet.

The other day, an elderly man with a great smile came up to me, pointed at my bike and asked “Dove vai?” (Where are you going?). I stumbled along trying to explain our route. “Oh! Bravo, bravo”. Then he pointed to himself and talked about the Dolomites with the brightest gleam in his eye and a huge smile. Despite the fact that I don’t speak Italian we managed to continue talking for a bit longer. Then he patted me on the shoulder, said “Bravo, bravo!” once again and went on his way. Incredible! Want to hear the best part? Something like this has happened almost everyday.

Yup, there are many things I love about Italy; that golden light that floods the Tuscan landscape, the quiet grace and beauty of hilltop towns like Pienza and San Gimignano, sweeping descents amongst sunflowers, the wine, the food…the list is long. The one thing I will cherish the most though are the countless conversations I’ve had in Italian, those moments when I wasn’t a tourist but a fellow cyclist with a shared passion for “La Bicicletta”.

Two days after getting back into Italy, we cycled to the beautiful hilltop town of Urbino in La Marche. It’s another World Heritage site, Italy is full of them. We are no longer cycling on busy coastal roads flanked with beach umbrellas, now we’re cycling quiet back roads through beautiful green fields and sleepy towns. Instead of humongous resorts, we are now cycling by villages centuries old. Ahhh…awesome. We’re already wondering how we could ever have considered skipping this.

The next day, we slowly made it to Gubbio, taking our time to fully appreciate the uphills, the downhills and the landscape enfolding around us. Gubbio, also perched up on a hill, was lit up perfectly by the late afternoon sun when we got there. Beautiful. We looked around and quickly noticed something else as well. We saw a group of men, obviously old friends, sitting and talking, probably discussing politics. We saw groups of ladies in the park, doting on their grandchildren. People buying bread, reading newspapers, having coffee. Where are the hordes carrying cameras and guide books? For the first time in a long time, it at least felt like the locals outnumbered the tourists. We must stay here for a few days.

The campground is run by the sweetest couple imaginable. He speaks perfect English, she speaks perfect French. As we set up, he came by to ask if we would like the light in our camping spot turned to shine on our tent, away from our tent, or if we simply preferred “la Bella Luna”. La Bella Luna, of course.

We spent our days strolling through the beautiful alleyways of Gubbio, taking photos, sitting in cafes talking, watching people go about their day and feeling like the luckiest people on earth. Perfect days in Gubbio.

Another break in the tent this morning. This time one of the poles snapped as we tried to get the panniers out from the half functional door. That’s a total of three breaks in two poles. We’re going to need more tape. Now it’s just getting personal!

After an overnight ferry from Croatia, we are now in Ancona, Italy. It’s time to make some decisions. Up and until now we have been immensely enjoying the freedom of just taking each day as it comes; stay an extra day here, take a left instead of the originally planned right “just because”. But, a quick look at the calendar and the map and it’s obvious that if we want to get to all the places we want to see before the weather changes, we need to get a move on. So we have a decision to make. Where to go from here?

We’ve basically narrowed it down to two options. 1) We can cut across Italy through the flat, monotonous and at times industrial Po valley in order to get to France as quick as possible. Or 2) Take a much longer route through Tuscany and Umbria. Tuscany and Umbria is probably some of the best cycling in the world, but we have been before and like I said, we’re pressed for time. So, cycle through areas that may look like this or through scenery like this. Hmmm, right…decision made. Why were we debating this again? Yet another detour it is.

After Montenegro we cycled back up the coast to Dubrovnik. There is a very steep climb for the last few km but it offers really glorious views of this gem of a city. We had been looking forward to seeing Dubrovnik for quite a while and it didn’t disappoint. The colors are remarkable, the red roof-tops, the light reflecting off the marble streets in the early morning and late afternoon, the shimmering turquoise blue waters making for a brilliant back drop; it’s really a site to see. Do not miss the walk along the city walls.

After a few days in Dubrovnik, we made our way back to Split via the island of Hvar; a pretty island with tough but rewarding cycling. Our return to Split marked the end of our Crotian tour. We’ve spent almost three weeks in Croatia, mainly cycling the coast and the islands. Without a doubt, the landscape in Croatia is spectacular and glorious. Swimming in its crystal clear waters is a dream. We had a very nice time but to be honest we didn’t fall in love with it, we liked it just didn’t love it. While the scenery is world class, some aspects were disappointing. It’s not a great cycling destination mainly because the coastal road is way too busy for comfortable riding, at least in August when we visited. On the rare occasion when the traffic was light, the cycling was superb but unfortunately those moments were few and far between. The coast was overrun with tourists and all the trappings that come with that but again, the atmosphere may be very different in the off-season. We wish we had visited a few years ago before the mega resorts.

From here we catch a ferry; we’ll be back in Italy in the morning.

We walked past a giant mirror today and got a real good look at ourselves. Yikes! While we aren’t feeling at all tired of travelling, we’re looking pretty ragged; 8 months of cycling, camping etc have definitely taken its toll:

• Our clothes are faded, tattered, stained and shabby.

• We have the oddest tans imaginable (think bike shorts, socks, cycling jerseys, cycling gloves and sunglasses).

• We are covered in mosquito bites and/or heat rashes (or at least what we are telling ourselves are heat rashes ).

• Our skin is dry and flakey.

• Spiros needs a haircut. (I won’t even bother going into the situation with my hair).

• We’re carrying raggedy, stained backpacks with forks and spoons sticking out of the pockets.

• We can usually be found sitting on steps or some park bench eating our 18th pastry of the day or a bowl of cereal. (For some reason, eating cereal in public seems to raise quite a few eyebrows).

We’re definitely looking a lot like a “before picture”. Spiros has decided he wants a new “Young and fresh” look. In other words, we’re in desperate need of a makeover…or at the very least a really, really good scrub-down…with a fire-hose or something along those lines.