The day wakes you gently, and you awake smiling because today you are off to Volterra! In the heart of Tuscany, Italy, Volterra is a small town most famous for its production of Alabastro (alabaster) stone.

You drive, through the famed rolling hills, on the autostrada with the equally famed crazy Italian drivers. You pass the turn off for San Gimigniano, driving through the surrounding town below. Your car winds you around bends as you roller-coaster along the scenic country roads. Your windows down, the wind in your hair is perfumed with the scents of spring flowers blooming, wildly, in the fields you pass.

Driving through Italy, seeing the beautiful countryside, the greenery, the little hill-top towns perched atop mountains, castles honoring the history of this land, you are free of all problems. This is freedom. This is happiness.

Soon, you are in Volterra, in the province of Pisa. With just over 11,000 inhabitants, this town is small yet amazingly historical. Having been an important Etruscan centre in ancient times, centuries later Florence repeatedly challenged Volterra to gain control of the town. Eventually, the Medici family took over.

Today, the town has a relaxed atmosphere. The sunshine casts shadows into the piazza, falling between the trees and the ancient buildings that create the winding narrow streets.  

You wander into the Piazza dei Priori, where you see a restaurant with tables spilling out into the square. Perusing the menu, you are approached by a friendly waiter who charms you into dining here. Spying the ornate interior, you decide to eat inside. You are lead to a table, and take a seat. The menu tempts you with a range of seafood and game. Being close enough to the coast here, and still surrounded by the forests famous for their game, you have the best of both worlds.

This is the Etruria Restaurant, coined the ‘temple of Volterra Gastronomy’. Surrounded on the outside by medieval towers and palaces, the interior awes you with the geometric design of the painted arched ceiling and smiling faces peer at you from the photo frames on the wall.

Your companion chooses meat dishes, so you opt for the seafood, allowing you to taste both options. Your gnocchi with a creamy salmon sauce is so delicious, as is your friend’s pasta with a ragù meat sauce. For main, you sample your friend’s stinco (pork shin), the meat just falls off the bone and is so flavoursome, like no pork dish you have ever tasted. You are presented with a huge serving of calamari and prawns, so generous in its proportion you barely even make a dint before you can eat no more. Or maybe just one or two more tastes…

After lunch, you head out into the piazza, cooled by the shadows cast by the amazing buildings in its surrounds. You wander the narrow streets, overhearing the jovial conversations of the townspeople laughing together, out for a relaxing afternoon walk. You head up a narrow street to the Parco Acheologico. Wandering through the park, whose grass fields roll up and down like waves of the ocean, the grounds are dotted with couples and families lazing on the green, sprawled out to take in the sun.

You do a loop of the park, listening to the cheery chirp of singing birds in the trees. Their song makes tangible your own contentment as you wander along.

Exiting the park, you head down a winding laneway, surrounded on both sides by an ancient brick wall that guides you out of the park. You wander along the town’s narrow cobblestone streets and eventually find yourselves in the Piazza XX Settembre. A statue of an archangel stands guard over the locals who gather on the piazza’s edge to look out over the spectacular view.

In this piazza, you spy the Museo della Tortura - a torture museum! You enter, seeing first of all a chair covered in nasty-looking nails. Traps and cages and instruments of torture line the walls with little plaques intricately detailing the use. Some are accompanied by paintings graphically clarifying the purpose of these ancient devices. You wince in sympathy for the people who experienced first hand the use of these items. You and your friend grip each others hands as you look at a guillotine.

Fortunately the museum is small and it is not long before you are out in the warm and cleansing sun. Exiting the torture museum, you laugh to yourself about the pertinence of Volterra being mentioned in the book Hannibal by Thomas Harris, and as a setting for Stephenie Meyer’s vampire thriller, New Moon.

Alas, there are no vampires out today and you are free to explore more of this quaint city.

You continue on your strolling, aimlessly wandering the streets before walking out into a piazza where you hear a chorus of masculine cheers and boos. Approaching a bar, you hear the commentary of a football match being broadcast from within a bar. Men crowd around, straining to hear. Standing back from the crowd, it is great to watch as hands go up in spirited joy at a positive result. The men clap each other on the back and teenagers cheer loudly as they wave large flags in the air in celebration.

As the crowd disperses, you wander into a giant alabaster store. The alabaster production here dates back to Etruscan times. The relatively soft stone (1.5 to 3 on the Mohs hardness scale) lends itself to design of curved lamp shades, small jewellery boxes inlaid with semi-precious gemstones, ornaments, and a range of other items that serve only to beautify.

Exiting the store, you walk towards the a wall that offers stunning views over the countryside. The landscape is breathtaking, with ancient brick buildings leading down the side of a hill like stairs into the valley below.

As with most things in life, you cannot quite capture on film the feelings, the beauty, the experience of being here, but you try.

You wander back into the maze of streets, walking up and down the streets, stopping for a coffee, and convinced by the display of gelato into having an ice-cream that is very near to the most delicious gelato of your life.  

Licking away contentedly, you wander on and on, up a steep street that leads you through to a small market - only 6 or 7 stands, and then out of the city walls and to your car.

Whilst you could definitely stay here longer, the promise of the drive ahead eases any sadness you may have for leaving. The bluesy Italian music of Fred Buscaglione serenades you on your journey home, the sunset salutes you and you head back through the hills.

The Palio della Stella, which takes place each year in Tuscany’s small town of Bagno a Ripoli, forms part of a day filled with community events on the second Sunday of September.  

Bagno a Ripoli divides itself into quarters to form teams that compete against each other in various sports, games and activities - each of which is inspired by history, with origins that date back to Medieval and Renaissance times. Townspeople gather to watch a series of traditional gala events such as the egg and spoon race, tug of war, sack races, and the like, to ascertain which of the town’s quarters - Contrada Alfiere, Contrada Cavallo, Contrada Mulino and Contrada Torre - will ultimately win.

The crowd moves from one arena to the next to watch the action - from the town’s central park to the streets and back as runners speed by with carts in La Corsa con i Barrocci, where one of the locals is placed into a cart that is then furiously pushed along the streets by a runner hurling towards the finish line. Each cart and its contents weighs over 110 kilos, and therefore requires the runners to be fast and strong.

There is La Corsa con i Cherchi, where runners course the streets with a wheel kept in motion with a wooden stick, as locals scream out in support for their team. Enthusiasm does not wane for the running of the relay.

As the street races conclude, the townsfolk slowly wander to the edges of the town’s grassed arena, seating themselves on the sloped grassed sides to watch as the biggest and strongest of the town’s men heave and grunt as they partake in the tug of war. The losing team crumble to the ground as the winners trip backwards with the force of their win.

At the end of each event, the spectators and fellow participants belonging to the winning quarter cheer and punch fists of victory into the air, the others, smiling also, pat their backs in a show of friendly support. Everyone is happy and relaxed, laughing and cheering.

Whilst the Sunday sun slowly softens in the sky, representatives from each Contrada form the Renaissance costume parade. Again, comprising of four groups, who are each led in to the arena by a marching band in Renaissance costume, each group attempts to out-do the others in terms of costuming, music, and choreography. The four groups, in a mass of velvet and lace costuming, thick tights, braided hair and swords, gather in the centre of the arena.

The crowd watches, all the whilst chatting amongst themselves, as they sit around the arena divided into large groups reflecting their relevant alliance with each Contrada.

All of a sudden, the crowd quietens as a group of young locals, in Renaissance costumes of tights and puffed-sleeve silk shirts in geographic patterns, gather in the centre of the arena. It is clear that the tall fair-haired boy is the star of the show. Flags are twirled, each of the flag throwers jumping and spinning and rolling, all the while throwing flags high up into the air and being caught in increasingly spectacular ways. The crowd oohs and ahhs at each turn.

For the grand finale, one of the group lays on the ground as each bounds over the top. Then a second person lays next to him and is leaped over by the others. Then the third, fourth and so on until there is an impossibly long line of trusting bodies laying in a row for the blond boy to jump over. Everyone watches with baited breath - will he make it or will he land thuddingly on the ribs of one of his friends?

Drums roll, the crowd is silent, and he runs, flag in hand billowing in the rush of his running speed. He leaps, he soars. He lands… centimetres past the last of his team. The crowd cheers wildly, whistling and applauding. The boy nonchalantly bows, as the others raise from their posts. Forming a long line, they all bow and then leave the field.

Now the anticipation of the crowd is at its peak. Just moments away from the reason people are gathered here. The Palio della Stella!

4 men appear on horseback, each regal in his Renaissance costume. Cantering around the edges of the track that circumferences the arena, they practice their run.

A gold star is placed on a hook overhanging the finishing line. The crowd cheers and claps as each horseman is introduced. Four gorgeous local girls in long gowns of rich velvet, their hair plaited and twirled in royal form, stand on podiums near the finish line.

As the tension and anticipation of the crowd is just about at breaking point. And now… GO! One horseman and his beast races around the track, building up frenetic speed. Sword in hand, he approaches the finish line overhung by the gold star. His sword is outstretched at the last moment and he spears the star through the centre, the force tearing it from its perch.

The crowd roars at his triumph, as he casually canters over to one of the damsels. Presenting the star to her on his sword, she regally reaches to remove it, kissing him elegantly on the cheek.

Next up is the second horseman. Will he get the star to present to his lady? The horse beats the track in heavy gallops that are heard over the silenced crowd. And yes, he gets the star - and his kiss.

The next two repeat the process, each spearing the star, each presenting it to their waiting lady.

For the next round, the star is slightly smaller. Each rider rings the track, attempts to spear the star. Only 3 succeed. Only 3 ladies are presented with a star.

The final round, the star is minuscule. How is it possible? But each horseman has his turn, 2 succeed, 2 do not. There is the elimination round. The crowd is tense. Which local boy will do good?

Drums roll, the crowd cheers, the horse sets off, its rider cool in his saddle as he leans in, stretching forth the sword and easily piercing the golden sword. Oh the tension!

The next horseman repeats the exercise, just as easily spearing the star. A second elimination round is called for.

Parts of the crowd are on their feet, heads in hand as the riders ring the track, reach for the star with the seemingly improbably small centre. It is pierced by only one rider and the crowd goes wild. His lady kisses him on the lips as she is presented with the winning star, and the crowd cheers on.

After some time, the crowd disperses to get pizza and pasta and famously good antipasti from the outdoor restaurant set up for the festival.

Next is the final spectacular of the evening - fireworks! In a second field, empty but for people of all ages seated on the cool grass, their heads turned to the heavens as pyrotechnic stars burst their vibrant colours into the black sky.

What a marvelous thing, that in this world of technology and deadlines, of computers and fast food, it is here in a small town in Italy where a Renaissance festival entertains a tiny town. Where this group of human beings gathers, as they have for centuries, to enjoy such a simple and traditional festival, and finally, relaxes to the spectacular sight of bright lights flowering in the night sky.

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.

As you head to the main bus station in Florence, it is early morning. The air is cool under the clear blue sky that has not quite obtained its full blush of the day.

Despite the quiet of the streets, you enter into a bar nearby the bus terminal and find it quite packed with locals laughing and chatting, slowly stirring a cappuccino or quickly throwing back their espresso shots.

You edge your way into the bar to order. How can coffee here taste so good?

Heading out of the bar and towards your bus, you alight and prepare yourself for the journey, book in hand. As the bus pulls out of the station, you expect to get a good lot of reading done in the hour and 15 minutes of your journey, but in fact, you are mesmerised, first by the wonderful wandering locals on the wondrous streets of Florence’s historical city centre as they weave their way through the narrow streets overshadowed by the historical buildings.

Soon, the streets widen, more trees appear and you are clearly heading from city to suburbia, then from suburbia to countryside. Giving up on the book, you take in vision after vision of stunning, rolling-hilled countryside. Green trees spear the sky, by now a richer blue, with only the sun to shield itself. Fields bloom yellow with flowers. You catch your own reflection in the window, grinning at the pleasure of such natural beauty before you.

It seems so soon that the bus is stopping and you are alighting into a bustling piazza. Groups of locals sit around cafes, some even sit on ledges around the piazza, all noisily talking. Groups of young girls pretend not to notice that the groups of boys are looking at them. Couples walk hand-in-hand as toddlers run off ahead, squealing with delight of stirring up the pigeons. Old men, who seemingly not so long ago were groups of boys themselves, sit in pairs or groups, sometimes talking, sometimes not.

You wander through the piazza, into narrow streets and out again into wide squares. Each space is lined with stores, some high fashion, some more like traditional ceramic, food and wine stores. Tearing yourself away from idling your way through through store after store, you continue on.

The warming sun dims as streets narrow whilst buildings loom stoically overhead. Some streets bustle and the pace is set by dawdling Sunday-afternoon strollers, other streets are near empty and you stop to gaze as the details on the buildings, appreciating the marks of history of this amazing Tuscan town.

The first stop on your agenda is the Cathedral. Begun in the late 1100s, the outside looks like a Gothic cake of tiered red, green and white marzipan-marble. You enter and for the first time visiting an Italian church, are more amazed by the floor than the walls! Intricately decorated with marble artworks depicting scenes from the bible, you step carefully around the images, awed. When you finally raise your eyes, you find the Cathedral is filled with magnificent statues (including one by Donatello), frescoed walls and an entire room dedicated to the most spectacular books which were once owned by Pius II.

After winding your way down and down through the streets, you see an narrow lane that opens up into a large tilted piazza. This is Piazza del Campo, where each year the famous Sienese Palio horse race is held. Built in the mid-1300s, a stunning fountain sits on the upper slope, the Fonte Gaia (Happy Fountain). A toddler walks up to the fountain, guarded by wrought iron bars, which her little hands grip as she pokes her little face through the bars to watch the water flow. Turning back to her parents, offering her gap-toothed grin, she points and squeals at the swish-swash of the water.

Settled into the base of the piazza is the Palazzo Comunale, the town hall. One can enter into the courtyard for free. Looking up you see the turrets of the palazzo zig-zagging against the perfect blue of the sky. Crouching down to yoga-esque lows, you manage a wonderful photograph that captures all, the turrets making the sky look like a perfectly blue perforated postage stamp.

You line up in the short queue and pay your 6 euro for access into the Torre del Mangia. Completed in the last few years of the 13th century, narrow stairs twirl their way up to the bell tower top. Dizzyingly windy, you feel like a happy child round-and-rounding up the stair, but you feel more your age as you near the top!

As you exit out of the stair well, into the open air, you forget everything as you find yourself surrounded by the most amazing vistas you have ever seen! Spectacular landscapes are gobbled up by your camera as you snap snap at each panorama. You stop for minutes at a time to gaze out and meditate over the stunning spaces. From here, you cannot help but feel there are no problems in the world, everything is just wonderful.

You manage to peel yourself away from the tower, guided by a higher power… hunger! You wind your way down, down, down and out of the tower, heading back out into the Piazza. Ringed with restaurants and coffee bars, you peruse a few menus before choosing one with arched bricked ceilings, small tables cramped within, crowded with diners happily feasting on plate after plate of exquisite cuisine.

Idling away an hour or more, the food is just amazing. Accompanied by a glass of Chianti Classico, life is good. 

Happily fed and watered, you pay your bill and leave, heading for the next stop: the Gelateria! You take a leisurely long time to select the perfect combination of delicious, creamy flavours. And it is worth the time! Whilst this is possibly the most delicious gelato of your life, quantifying this does require further tastings in other regions, and you promise yourself to make it a priority to continue this important study in the future.

Wandering out of the piazza, from the downward edge, you step on out of the city centre, and after some minutes of walking, the streets fatten and host more trees, and you realise you are leaving the city centre. Continuing on, you pass corner stores, news agencies, laundromats, all the normal signs of suburban life, but somehow more charming, more… more Tuscan.

After a good 40 minutes of pacing down the street, by now a main road, you spy a narrow track that beckons you. Continuing down the lane, you find yourself on a country dirt road, surrounded by olive groves, quaint Tuscan houses nestled within. One house has a stunning, ancient white pedestal bathtub seated in the garden, with a rusty bicycle leaned up against it, just as it was placed possibly 40 years ago and from where it has not moved since. You click a postcard-worthy photo of this yard, and continue your wandering. A tiny moss-covered church sits at an intersection, possibly spacious enough for 10 people at once to enter into its confines. Further on, a large house has an entryway to its front door where hundreds of cherry tomatoes hang in bunches overhead, waiting to dry.

The blue sky is dimming as the sun sets behind just one of the most spectacular Tuscan hills that form the views here. You decide to return to the city before it gets too dark. Walking back into Siena, by now late in the afternoon, the crowds have changed. People finishing work or preparing for dinner, sip wine at the bars, their crossed legs in linen trousers and fine leather footwear tapping away contentedly.

Resisting the tempation to join them, and even to stay, arranging your days around long lunches and pre-dinner drinks, you re-trace your steps, up and up through the winding streets until you find yourself back into the original piazza. Buses arrive and depart, and on one of them, you are gone from the wonderful Siena, vowing to return.

Coming to Italy and not trying pizza is like swimming without getting wet.

But finding a great ‘pizzeria’ can be tricky in a limited amount of time to explore a city. There are pizzerias lining most of the famous piazzas, where you will eat great pizza in a wonderful atmosphere enjoying the ambiance of the wondrous Florence city centre.

But locating the more typical pizzerias where the locals are hiding and dining is a delight in itself - to be surrounded by tables of Italian families, all speaking at once and yet somehow able to actually listen at the same time, to see the couples interacting - discerning the new couples and not so new, trying to spot the first dates, the romantic dinners, the apology meals. Then there are the birthday parties, the Friday night out, the because-it-is-Thursday-lunchtime-and-we-have-been-coming-here-every-Thursday-lunchtime-for-30-years lunches… maybe you could even pass some time wondering where all the wives are whilst all the men are gathered to pass an afternoon together laughing and drinking wine and eating pizza, and chatting with the staff loudly and raucously as they have done for decades, or perhaps you will get the next generations dining at the table near-by. These days, the girls are more likely to come along too….or even to be forming their own gaggle of gorgeous and giggly girls.

For this kind of pizza experience, Florence offers Le Campane pizzeria on Borgo La Croce 87r, not too far from Piazza Beccaria. At the entrance, there are people waiting for their take-home orders, often accompanied by a dog on a leash excited by the delicious aromas emanating from the pizza ovens. Heading towards the back of the restaurant, you come to a large back room, packed with locals enjoying their favourite slice. The menu is all in Italian, and there are not even descriptions of the pizzas. A personal recommendation would be the Margarita of a thin pizza crust covered with delicious cheese and a tomato sauce that is like the intense taste of Tuscan sunshine epitomised, or for the more daring, opt for the ‘Sister Perversion’ - a cross between a folded pizza (’Calzone’) and a standard flat pizza, topped with artichokes, ham, cheese and olives… perfect with the house wine and some good company.

Just around the corner, Il Pizzaiolo on Via de’ Macci 113 r, just a few streets over from the Santa Croce piazza, is something a little more special as far as a pizzeria goes. If you don’t have a reservation, you may be laughed at for even suggesting you would like a table! But if you go early, from around 7pm-8pm, you may have a chance of getting in without a booking. Once the locals start arriving, chances dwindle. Aside from being one of the top pizzerias in Florence, the mixed entree platter (Antipasto Misto) is worth the visit alone! A platter for two centred with a parcel of buffalo mozzarella that is opened to contain a liquidy-soft cheese that your taste buds will never forget. The coccoli (in Italian, this means ‘cuddles’ - a small ball of fried and salted pizza dough) and hams all bundled together along with other morsels of pleasure are better than, well, other really fantastic things in life!

Near Porto Prato you will find the Funiculì pizzeria which serves their pizzas on bases a little higher than the standard thin crusts. Dining is in an enormous room with hundreds of tables (so almost always you can get in without a reservation!), there are also car parks available without entering the city streets that are restricted entry. The atmosphere is fun and relaxed, with lots of locals enjoying a combination of the finest pleasures in life - great company, great food and Tuscan wine!

On the other side of the Arno river, on Lungharno Ferrucci, you will find a Pizzeria Restaurant La Greppia. Out of the historical city centre, you can dine on fantastic pizza with a side of wonderful views from the terrace overlooking the splendid river.

Il Caffe Italiano, Via Condotta 12, has a maze of small dining rooms each with a different but always spectacular ambiance. For the pizza, there is no menu, just 3 or so standard pizzas that are always on offer and always delicious! One of the other fantastic things about this pizzeria is that is just a few doors down from the famous Vivolli gelateria where you can get the best, home-made gelato for dessert!

And if you really just want fantastic pizza without having to leave the house, there is always Princes Pizzeria that will bring fantastic pizza direct to you! Just call (+39) 055 268000.

Besides knowing where to go, some other tips about eating pizza in Italy would be that pizza is often considered as an entree that is then followed by a meat main, with a side of vegetables. Generally, people will order one pizza per person, with the sizes being on average, that of a standard dinner plate. Italians do not usually fold their pizza, and regulations about use of cutlery or hands, change according to which state you are in. Asking for the pizza to be made with Mozzarella di Buffula (Buffalo Mozzarella) is a good idea also. If it is available, the pizzas are just amazing. The best pizzas have few toppings, which allows the flavours of each ingredient to really be appreciated.

And don’t forget to eat your pizza served with some wonderful Tuscan wine, and save room for the life-changing desserts Tuscany is famous for!

Catching the train from Florence to Assisi gives the gift of 3 or so hours to see the wondrous Italian countryside. Streams of water dance across pebbled riverbeds, scurrying through the trees that stand guard from the rivers’ edge.

Houses litter the countryside, in various states of evolution from the youth of construction, the middle-ages of habitation through to the silent and beautiful abandoned ruins crumbling into old age in the midst of a field, slowly returning to the earth.

Cattle wander aimlessly through pastures, their attention focused on the lush green grass, whilst flowers bloom outwards from the soil, drunk on the sunshine that falls on their pretty heads.

Arriving in Assisi, the train station is small and despite the fact that there are not many people on the platforms, or in the station itself, the station’s coffee shop is buzzing with the cheerful chatter of locals awaiting their next caffeine hit, the hiss of the coffee machine, the clatter of dishes.

Stepping out of the station, into a piazza, there are cars and taxis coming and going. A wide straight roads brushes past the front of the station, porting the traffic and its human contents to various destinations. But straight ahead, oh what a sight.

A road runs from the mouth of the station to a large mountain bursting from the earth. Covered in white buildings like crazy rows of teeth, the nimbus clouds that give the sky a calming Sunday feel break to let spears of sunlight photosynthesise the historical centre of Assisi.

From the station, it is a short drive to the historical centre. Roads swirl around the mountain, narrowing to impassable passages. Bars and restaurants peep out from underground and hotels sit on the edges of the mountain so that morning coffees are sweetened with the spectacular views over the countryside.

You’re in Assisi to see churches and walk through the streets that are dedicated to the city’s most famous citizen, St. Francis. Born here in 1182, you can see his clothes and shoes, as well as his final resting spot in the Basilica di San Francesco. Here is also the sight of some artworks that revolutionised the idea of perspective in art, in their representation of Jesus as a human figure and in the way in which classes and races were depicted together. Bringing to the poor illiterate population the stories of the bible, to be here now and see the colours, the architecture depicted, and the evolution of perspective brings its own perspective to the history with which you are surrounded here.   

From this church, the city streets wind upwards and upwards, corkscrewing around the mountain edge. Along the way, one dilly dallies through the narrow cobble-stoned streets which open into spacious piazzas, in each of which crouches one magnificent church after another. The Basillica di Santa Chiara was built in the 13th century, and features a white and pink stone facade that seems almost edible. The Chiesa Nuova (literally, ‘new church’) takes it name by the fact that is 400 years younger than that of Santa Chiara. Once a temple, the church of Tempio di Minerva is another stop along the way to the peak of the city.

Restaurants and coffee shops centrifuge around the streets also. Stopping for a lazy lunch, saving just enough room for an afternoon cup of steaming liquid chocolate that sticks to the lips in a delicious kiss. Shortbread biscuits crumble into the mouth and give the afternoon a delightful sugar-buzz as you work your way, onwards and upwards, through Assisi. 

In between the visits to the churches, the streets burst with quaint little stores selling handmade products as they have done for centuries. Wooden spoons and hand-printed aprons, ceramics brushed with images of the stunning undulating hills in the surrounds, wines squeezed from the vineyards that stroke the countryside in parallel lines, and food stuffs that have been made this way since before grandma’s grandma was a girl.

Stopping at one of the piazzas with views over the edge of the city, the sun slowly slides down the face of the sky, falling into the bed of the mountains in the distance. On its way, it smears the horizon in an array of pinks and oranges that one can only attempt to capture with a camera, but that will always be in the mind’s eye for being so spectacular.

The icing on the cake of Assisi is the Rocca Maggiore - a fortress that sits like a final tier on the city. Walking up here just as the nighttime falls like black chiffon over buildings below, the white bricks of the fortress are lit by spotlights and the silence of the surrounds hums rhythmically. Looking out over the city and beyond is a moment of beauty and tranquility. The stars twinkle joyfully in the black sky, there is not a sound to be heard from the city below.

In fact, returning to the city streets, one finds a quiet town, the last of the shops closing, restaurant windows framing views of diners happy and full on the wondrous food and lulled into sleepy satisfaction by the melatonin-rich red wine.

Spying a local and asking for advice on a nice bar, you may be lucky enough to wander down a narrow cobbled street to find a small night spot emanating a yellow light that defrosts the cool blue of the nighttime. Entering within, the lively jazz and the chitter-chatter of the still-spirited locals is as intoxicating as the wine.

But exiting the bar, the streets are again silent and deserted. The walk back to the hotel is buoyed by the lingering jazz tune that accompanies you home, swishing away inside your eardrums, and spilling out onto the crisp linen of your soft pillow as you doze off to sleep, tired and content.

Some 700 years old, the foundations of Piazza Santa Croce have withstood floods, executions, no-rules football matches of the Calcio Storico, markets, millions of tourists, markets and festivals… and has never lost the power to take a breath away.

The piazza is located just 800 metres from the city’s famous looming Duomo. When the afternoon sun relaxes in the sky, and its light catches on the quilted marble facade of the Santa Croce church, it is almost enough to turn heretics into believers. Possibilities open up before you with each nimbus slashed across the uneven pavement stones of the piazza.

Construction of the Santa Croce church that backdrops the piazza, began in 1294 on the site of a Franciscan chapel. Inside lie the remains of some of the world’s most famous minds - Michelangelo, Machiavelli and Galileo to name a few. And what a resting place - under the frescoes of Giotto, Donatello, and Tito in this, the largest Franciscan church in the world.

As if the history, art and splendor of the Church are not enough, the Santa Croce piazza is abundant with activities throughout the year that add a stark modern vibrancy to the historical backdrop. The 19th Century facade of the church stands guard over a variety of markets and events throughout the year, when the piazza hosts to numerous markets, festivals, sporting events, concerts, and other crowd-drawers.

Starting with the German ‘Heidelberger Weihnachtsmarkt’  Christmas market, the stalls are filled with various Christmas decorations, foods and gifts, as well as hot food stands selling staunchy, cold-warding foods like wurstel with sour crout… and of course, beer. But the steamy hot spiced wine, served from a large wooden vat, is just magnificent. Cupped in warm hands, the steam dissolving foggy breath, each sip gives warmth from the lips to the belly. Whilst this market has only been held in Florence for the past 6 years, its origins date back 500 years. If the idea of a German market in Florence seems a little out of place, the missing link is that Prince Heidelberg’s wife was actually the last of Florence’s royal Medici family. Maria Luisa’s statue can be found in the San Lorenzo church nearby, and her legacy of donating the family artworks is appreciated with each entry to the Uffizi gallery dedicated to holding this wondrous collection.

Just a short while after recovering from the reveries of a New Years Eve concert held in the square, Santa Croce, for but a few days in January, brings chocolaty bliss to its visitors by the way of a hand-made chocolate market. Each stall is a shrine to the god of chocolate, and there are many worshipers in attendance. From chocolate spanners and hammers for the more practical chocolate lover, to the decadent chocolate art works, and the in between delights… chocolate has never been so beautiful, so aromatic, so available in large, delicious quantities! Walking through the market, the air is filled with the aroma of chocolate and the palpable happiness of the market attendees, high from the excitement of so much chocolate, and perhaps on a bit of a sugar and caffeine rush from too much taste tasting!

In late April to early May, runs the Slow Market - a small collection of stalls showcasing wines, cheeses, meats, salsas and other food products. By this time of year, the temperature is quite warm, so entering into the shaded tents is a relief in itself. To find yourself surrounded with such wondrous foods, each imbued with the makers’ passion for good food. The worst part is trying to resist all of the numerous temptations, but some taste-testing usually helps make the decision, and the deciding process itself, a lot easier.

Something a little less palatable is the Calcio Storico - a no-holds-barred football match with origins dating back to the 15th century. In June or July, two teams of 27 players apiece gather to partake in an ancient sport that blends football and all-out brawling. Past years have been known to get so violent that the event was cancelled in 2007! It is quite a spectacle to see teams of young men, dressed in ancient Renaissance-style garb, whilst trying to get the ball into the net that runs the entire length of the pitch. However, the brawling component is often known to overshadow the actual ball-playing. Not that the spectators tend to find this a negative! Keeping in line with any form of Italian regulations, the rules are extremely complex, and the prize - a large quantity of the famous Bistecca Fiorentina (Florentine steak) which was traditionally butchered to mark the event.

Starting in the Santa Croce piazza before winding through to other famous historical posts throughout Florence is the Festa delle Rificolone (the Festival of Paper Lanterns) on 7 September. Usually for families with children, hundreds of people walk the streets holding tea-light candled paper lanterns in a festival commemorating the birthday of the Virgin Mary, a tradition dating back to the Renaissance. It is certainly a sight to see hundreds of coloured lights bobbing through the darkness en mass, and the sea of children in strollers being pushed by parents happily meandering through the ancient cobbled streets with children mesmerised by the bobbing candle-lights ensconced in magnificent paper lanterns.

Other markets peppered throughout the year peddle antiques, handcrafts, artworks, jewellery, and other treasures. Whatever the event, it is lovely to sit and enjoy the atmosphere of the market, wander through the stalls, pondering on the historical site in which you find yourself, with the backdrop of the stunning Santa Croce church.