Morning:

Your first thought of the morning is of the weather, as you peep open your eyes to the bright morning sun. You are grateful for the the beautiful day that is. Rising from bed, you hum as you prepare yourself for your day, continuing as you exit the house, towards the Santa Maria Novella train station in Florence, Italy. It is here that you board your train to Pisa.

The Train:

The carriage fills with people heading to Pisa with you, some to the nearby Pisa airport, and others, sans baggage to explore the town. Then there are the locals, on their way to somewhere in between.

You try not to watch as couples passionately say their goodbyes then separate from each other as the train parts from the station.

As the train picks up speed, you watch the Arno river race alongside the train, its current not quite keeping pace. Joggers bound by in rhythmic motion along the river edge, sometimes in lycra-clad packs, sometimes in solitude.

From the other window you see small farms, horses in little fields, a pink house, a man-made lagoon, all flicking past.

Soon the view is the stunning Tuscan countryside, displaying itself in the window panes, before changing again as you arrive in the small historical town of Pisa.

Pisa:

Alighting from the train, you exit into the Piazza della Stazione where a group of Scotsmen in matching blue and white shirts stand guard over a large flag sprawled tauntingly over the ground, as they anxiously await the start of an upcoming football match that evening.

Crossing Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II, you follow the road, around 2 large roundabouts, and head down Corso Italia. The street is closed to traffic and is alive with groups of locals, many young due to the nearby university.

Trendy clothing stores line the street, broken by cafés and gelaterias, where outdoor tables are spill onto the traffic-free roadway. Locals seat themselves at the tables, drinking short coffees over long conversations.

You manage to dodge temptation at the first three gelaterias you pass, heading on, straight ahead.

Some 15 minutes from the train station, you arrive at the Arno river which has continued on with you from Florence.

Just across the river, you arrive in Piazza Garibaldi, where you spy the most tempting gelateria yet. You give yourself in to a cone of frutti di bosco and fragola – fruity flavours that play with your thrilled taste buds.

Walking on and on, you search the skyline for your first glimpse, but to no avail.

And then, you round a corner and ahead of you, just at the end of the street you are right now walking on, you see, ahead, a bottle green and white intricately tiled facade of the Duomo (cathedral). Built in 1064, in any other setting it would be the highlight of your day.

But as if this stunning cathedral is not alone worth the effort of visiting this little city, just next to it is the reason you are here – along with literally thousands of others today…. The Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The Piazza dei Miracoli:

The entire piazza buzzes with a swarm of people gathered here from all corners of the globe. And though there are so many people, their prescence actually adds to the experience of being here. In the mid-day sun, the grass fields of the area have become sun beds for all.

Signs pleading to stay off the grass are ignored in a mass lie-in protest as people relax on the grass, some reading, some taking the must-have pushing-over the leaning tower photo, couples who whisper intimately to each other, families with small rascally dogs that cause nearby families to speak with the dog owner and little kids to stop their parents to watch.

One small white fluffy dog, only a few months old, spies a sausage dog on a nearby family blanket. The white dog barks a friendly salute, and then starts bouncing frantically around the other dog, playfully lowering himself so low into the grass then springing up and away. The older, calmer dog is a little confused at first but soon starts to play the same game. Tens of people gather to laugh and watch as the dogs play, squinting in the beautiful sunshine and smiling at the simple pleasures.

The Leaning Tower:

You have made a booking online for your tower climb, and 15 minutes prior to your allocated time, you stand and enter into the nearby ticket office. You are given your tickets and move along into the locker room where you place your belongings.

Back out into the sun, you walk towards the tower.

There she stands, her famous tilt, her spiraling outer design, her crowned top. The Leaning Tower of Pisa. You admire the Italian attitude of lauding a terrible mistake into one of the world’s most famous and recognisable sights!

Built as the Duomo’s bell tower, the lean began just several levels into the building process. Over time, the lean continued to increase until in 1998 when a solution was found to stop the process from continuing.

Precisely at the time of your booking, a guard allows your small group to enter into the tower. You try to remember to pace yourself, but your excitement bounds you up the first few flights until you meet with the behinds of those ahead of you. Stopping to take photos from the slitted windows, you see the people below shrink within each passing window.

The stairs are tight and spiralled. Centuries of footsteps have worn away at the marble stairs, leaving smooth indents. You notice how on one side of the tower, the indents are to the left of the stair, yet as you round and round, the indents move across to the lean. How wonderful to think that every person who has been here has been forced by the same gravitational and natural instinct to righten the inclination.

Winding and winding you come to a small balcony, where a guard leads you out into the sunshine. There are steps here where a group of Italian teens has stopped and one asks you take a photo of them, smiling and cheeky, with the bell of the tower features in the background of their photo.

You continue around the balcony before arriving at a tiny doorway offering you more stairs. You enter in, spiraling then rising out into the sun. You are now at the top of the tower.

The sun overhead provides you with a clear day that allows a perfect view that spreads out over the edges of the town of Pisa, to ragged mountains and smooth fields in the beyond.

Looking across from one side of the tower’s top platform to the other, you can really see the lean. Tilting yourself over the edge, you spy the people, now mere sprawling ants, in the fields below. But looking out, you are just free, here, as if up in the sky looking down and out at the splendors before you.

Leaving from Florence, Tuscany, you all pack into your vehicle to drive through the wondrous rolling hills, their beauty famously epitomised in paintings and poems throughout history. Every glance is a photo. You stop a moment along the way to take some photos, pick flowers from the road side and absorb the scenery. You hear only the birds singing, their cheerful chirping epitomising your happiness in being here. 

After what seems like mere minutes, but is in fact just over 100 kilometres from the centre of Florence, you arrive in Montalcino. In the province of Siena, in Tuscany, Montalcino is a stunning hill town, with origins dating back to Etruscan times. 

The famed Tuscan sun sits high in the vibrant blue sky as you enter into the city through a large arched doorway in the pale grey stone walls that surround the town. Some of these medieval walls date back to the 13th century. You run curious fingers across the ridges of the rough stones, feeling their cool hardness, and the lick of the light moss that sits in the crevices. 

From the outer edges of the city, you can see over into the valleys below, where vineyards drag across the countryside. The ancestor of these grapes is the famed Brunello di Montalcino. The only place in the world where Brunello is made, its rich taste values the 20 euro or more per bottle. 

Entering into the city, narrow streets dissect the city’s hills, paved with large flat paving stones which drum the click-clack of your heels, the rhythm echoing that of the horse hooves that would have pulled carriages through these lanes in times long past. 

Along these streets, small doorways porthole you into stores, bars and restaurants. The clutter and buzz of diners seeps out into the streets, the chitter-chatter cutting into the click clack of your passing, bringing to you the sounds of happy diners, nestled where leisurely sips are taken and forks hover in mid-air as lunch-time conversations take priority over anything else in the world. 

The light, cool greyness of the town engulfs you and the smooth expanse of the blue-sky lid contrasts with the cobbled stones that construct the entire city. You wind upwards to a piazza which houses a pillared-front church. The silence and tranquillity of this area is religious in itself. 

Passing on, the roads wind you around to other churches, and towers that point upwards like accusatory fingers. You enter into one church. It is small and cool inside, and you escape from the expansive heat of the outdoors. Your pupils take a moment to dilate in adjustment to the darkness here, and the coolness breathes refreshingly over your warmed skin. Marble pillars stand guard over the parallel pews that dissect this cavernous space, which balloons above the extravagant altar into a domed ceiling dissected by concentric lines centred by a circular window from which enters sunshine illuminating the altar below. 

Back outside in the heat of the day, you wind through more narrow stone streets, pausing to photograph picturesque doorways, curtains billow from windows, dancing in the breeze, whilst flowers in planter-boxes below wave like an appreciative audience. Arches embrace and support narrow lanes. Even the laundry pegged outside of open-shuttered windows is romantic here. 

Towers loom above, dissecting the blue of the sky. Green trees and shrubs stand amongst the cobbled streets. Stairs wind up and down the town, making it a labyrinth of tight streets to explore. Hours pass as you wind up and down the city, rounding bends and traversing straight streets. 

After some hours of winding and wandering, you head to the city’s peak. Here, you arrive in Piazza Fortezza, housing a castle perched in the centre of a large field of green green grass. You lay yourselves down on the grass, feeling the coolness of the blades on your skin, being cooled on the underneath whilst your faces are warmed by the Tuscan sun. White clouds have formed in the sky and dance above you. There is absolute silence here, shattered only by your voices sharing the found images made out in the cloud forms above. A sentry, a tower, a rooster, all float by overhead. 

Cooled and re-energised, you enter into the castle. Pentagonal in design, this castle was constructed in the 12th century. Entering into the castle fortress, you find yourselves in an expansive open-aired courtyard where large pebbles crunch underfoot. Here you see the church of Sant’Agostino, and the Musei Riuniti (museum). At the end of the courtyard there is an enotecca, selling some of the world’s best wines, all perched on precarious shelving dwarfing you all, as it reaches up into the high ceilings. 

After perusing the wines on offer, you wander back out into the courtyard where wooden tables offer you a place to sit outside, shaded by umbrellas, whilst you sample some of the local wine. Served with plump olives and salty nuts, your mouths are awash with pleasures. An afternoon is whiled away, as the wine bottle slowly empties, the sun lowering in the sky. Wandering back to the car, the sunlight falling on the streets has been turned down a little and the colours are shadowed somewhat in the afternoon. 

Driving back to Florence, the sunset is framed by your window pane. Again, stopping to take photographs the scenery is changing before your eyes in the dimming light. Always beautiful, as you imagine it must have always been and always will, kept as it is with utter respect by its inhabitants and visitors.

Setting out from the central Duomo of Florence, you head to the Ponte Vecchio, zig-zagging through the hordes of relaxed tourists and locals. The bridge seems to hum with gold, the glorious glow emanating from the gold stores that line the historical bridge.

You stop half way, to look out over the river view offered by a break in the stores. On one side, you see an almost haphazard and wondrous stack of muted citrus-coloured apartment boxes, followed by a line of incredibly impressive buildings. Steeples and towers peep out from behind museums and libraries, straining for a glimpse of the river that passes below you.

Crossing to the other side of the bridge, walking against the current of passers by, you see the opening of the Piazza Degli Uffizi. Turning your head towards the other flank of the river, you see a hill rising into the sky, lipping over the edge of the city.

You have spied Piazzale Michelangelo, perched high up and beckoning you with its promise of spectacular views over the city.

Crossing the second half of the Ponte Vecchio, turning to your left, you follow the river along. Within minutes, you are walking where there are less people, it is quieter and relaxed, and yet you can still see the people on the bridge standing where you were mere minutes ago, trying desperately to photograph and capture the nymphs of sunshine that play on the River Arno.

To your left, you see the towering Porta San Niccolò, set in front of a winding path that leads to the top of the hill. Bisected into walkable tiers zig-zagging up before you, you start your ascent, winding up streets tiled with small stones. Here, tucked underneath the cliff-face created by the next level up, is a small pond filled with large Karp swimming centrifugally.

You continue onwards and upwards. Here a road. Next a dirt path, canopied by trees that bend to shade you from the warming sun as you continue on your climb. Here you are, the final descent.

Slightly out of breath, you take the final few meters a little slowly. You find yourself facing into a large piazza. The expansive space is filled with vendors selling paintings, postcards, drinks, snacks, trinkets, t-shirts, and hats to the tourists and locals that congregate here.

But the first thing that catches your eye is David. There he is, in all his naked splendor! This is Florence’s 3^rd David, inspired by Michelangelo’s original, here perched so as to stoically guard over the piazza and beyond.

And oh, they beyond. You turn your back to the large naked marble man in the centre of the piazza, to see…. the most spectacular, wondrous sight even more breath-taking than the 10 minute climb to get here!

Here is Florence, laid out before you to explore from above. You run your eyes over the tops of buildings, over the river that licks the base of the panorama. You absorb the colours of the buildings, the contrast of the pastel blue sky that backdrops the ups and downs, the pointed towers, the boxed city portals, and the curved domes of Florence’s historical city centre.

The centrepiece of it all is the Duomo – the city’s majestic cathedral. It is only from here that one gains an understanding of the size of the Duomo in comparison to every other building and tower in the centre.

From here, in Piazzale Michelangelo, one can imagine that the skyline has barely changed since it was first designed by Giuseppe Poggi in 1865-1870, during the brief period in which Florence was Italy’s capital.

Dragging your eyes away, reluctantly, from the city and its magnificent rolling hillside in the beyond, you turn again to face into the piazza and walk away from the captivating view. You walk the winding road that leads to the right, and follow along a little way until you see a church.  

The Chiesa di San Miniato al Monte is an 11^th century church with a wondrous geometric facade that contrasts magnificently with the soft curves of the wispy clouds floating in the blue of the sky. Entering in, you feel the coolness layer over your skin as you explore the church and its frescoes, the crypt, the inlaid marble works, the choir pulpit…

After some time wandering, the draw of the fading sun draws you back to the Piazzale. But first you spy some park benches, where you can sit a while, in the shade of the trees, secluded from the world, spying the view of Florence between the trees. You watch as the day’s light dims to night.

You head back towards the Piazzale, stopping at a bar for a cool drink. By the time you finally get to the square again, the tourists have dissipated into the city below and there is a changing crowd. The vendors start to leave, the few that remain chat amongst themselves whilst listening to a radio that plays classic rock.

Sitting on a bench that provides views out of the city, your eyes oscillate from the view ahead of you and the people-watching afforded from within the piazza.

Young couples on first dates stand at respectable distances from the next couple along. Groups of locals chat in circles that buzz with merry chitter-chatter. A few children chase each other, squealing, in circles around the piazza.

Meanwhile, the city before you has become a sea of lights, some twinkling like stars fallen to ground, some beaming upwards into the dark sky that has guarded over this city throughout the ages.

Arezzo is famous for hosting Italy’s oldest and biggest antique market. The wares range from jewels and books, to art works, furniture, clothing, garden items, and random objects, the use for which one can pass many entertaining hours trying to ascertain!

The town itself was built on a hill, so the entire town slops up and down its often windy streets connecting you from a dizzying maze of piazza after piazza. Each piazza is circumferenced by amazing frescoed buildings, ancient churches - some aged into an amazing emerald green moss encasing the original stone, and one amazing cathedral parqueted with tiny black and white tiles. This is Arezzo’s 13th century Duomo (cathedral) that is famous for its stained glass masterpieces, it’s Gothic design and the artworks housed within.

Then there are the stone-fronted palazzos, whose apartment windows are lined with quaint planter boxes sprouting floral dashes of bold reds and yellows and greens, along with the freshly washed linen, pegged on pullied clothes lines under the windows. You can hear the sound of crisp linens whipping in the breeze.

Then of course, there are the restaurants and bars, the fashion stores and the vibrancy of the locals that fill the larger piazzas with life and the enchanting aroma of caffé!

But it is the antiques fair that draws everyone out into the streets. A market that seems to never end, as you meander through each street, pausing to look, to touch, to perhaps even buy one of the classical, or fantastical treasures. Sunday’s casual attitude buzzes in the air. The streets bustle as locals take their Sunday walks, wandering hand in hand between the stalls, gazing to look at some piece of furniture or try on some old-fashioned hats! 

The wares themselves seem to shrink and expand according to the size of the piazza or street in which they are held. Narrow streets hold books and jewels, increasing in size until the central Piazza Grande, which lives up to its name by presenting large furniture pieces, art works and other not-so luggage-friendly items. It is almost impossible not to stumble across this Piazza. Everything colourful and grand, the piazza buzzing with the nattering of the stall holders, and the casual haggling of the buyers.

Some of the buildings in this piazza date back to the 12th and 13th centuries, and looking up to the tower of the noble palaces you can imagine the life of the past would have sounded not so different from today.

The sunlight rolls across the slope of the piazza, bouncing shards of sunshine back off the crackled mirrors on hundred-year old dressers, glimmering off the tables of brass wares that act like a xylophone of light. On the edges of the piazza, women sashay in and out of fashion boutiques wearing fancy hats and back-breaking high heels (on cobbled stone streets!). The air is filled with the aroma of bitter strong coffee, sipped in large quantities in the nearby coffee bars.

Searching for a restaurant means a turn down a peaceful side street, with stairs leading the way downstairs into deep set restaurants, burrowed in the slope of the hills. The locals can be heard laughing and often passionately debating amongst themselves as they dine on some of the hearty specialty dishes of the region.  

In one small piazza, you can find tables of old books, postcards dating back 50 years or more, children’s toys, fur coats, and lampshades. Every side-street seems to house even more stalls. Beds and chairs, full dining sets, sideboards, hat stands, everything including old marble kitchen sinks!

Via del Corso, a large sloping street running through the centre of the town, is dissected by stall tables lined with jewellery, candied nuts, unusual cutlery that dates back centuries, ceramics and blown glass, vases and plates, candelabras, vintage hats and handbags and a range of amazing books! In stark contrast, some of the actual stores that line this street are high-end fashion, sleek black shop fronts encasing clothes paraded on catwalks this very season. Next door is a framer, whose store window is jammed with empty gilded picture frames, just waiting for the next Michelangelo or Piero della Francesca to pass by, just as these men did centuries ago. 

It is here in Arezzo where one can touch the past, and even buy a piece of it, surrounded by the lively, beautiful and fashionable present!

Arezzo is just 75 kilometres (45 miles) from the centre of Florence, in the south of Tuscany. Arezzo’s antique fair is held on the first weekend of the month. The town itself is just half an hour from the city of Florence, and is on the direct train route connecting Florence to Rome.