- The Tragedy of
Macbeth, William Shakespeare
View from my room at Casachianti
During my stay in
Tuscany I stayed at a wine farm turned bed & breakfast called
Casachianti, situated seven kilometers outside of Certaldo and
belonging to the village of Fiano. The B&B is a lovely old
building with three very spacious rooms and a restaurant downstairs,
and I became very pleased with the venue due to its old-fashioned
aesthetics and its spaciousness - so pleased, in fact, that I wasn't
too bothered by the lack of Internet access. Its distance from the
city of Certaldo lent a mild serenity to the surroundings, and when
looking out on the landscape I could see the rolling hills stretch
far and wide, covered in grapevine or olive trees, and the air was
heavily perfumed by the Italic pines and various roadside plants
whose names I don't know. I had missed this perfume sorely ever since
my last trip to Italy in 2008, and I spent much time leaning out of
the window and breathe in the fragrance. Casachianti, in sum, is a
very idyllic location and I enjoyed my time there immensely.
However, nothing on
earth can be truly paradisical without some kind of antagonistic
element. In the Tuscan countryside this antagonistic element is the
traffic. There is, sadly, a large grain of truth to the various jokes
and stereotypes pertaining to the Italian way of driving, and during
my stay at Casachianti I would become well acquainted with this facet
of Italian culture. Although Casachianti's remote location was a balm
to the mind after a busy, long conference day, it presented a major
obstacle when it came to transport. The B&B is, as stated,
situated seven kilometers from Certaldo, and due to the recend
economic troubles, the local government had recently decided to
reduce the bus schedule to a bare minimum, and I never encountered a
bus heading for Certaldo as long as I was there. I did have the phone
number to the B&B's regular taxi driver, but if I were to use his
services both to and from Certaldo I would spend far more money than
I was willing to do. The only logical solution was, of course, to
hitch-hike.
Had I been a woman I
believe I would have hesitated to hitch-hike through the Italian
countryside on my own, but being an elderly-looking man I decided to
rely on the kindness of strangers for my transport into town. I had
high hopes in this cunning plan, since my stereotypical Italian
driver is, among other things, a social creature who likes helping
other people. This stereotype proved to be largely incorrect, as I
had to walk quite a distance before a kind stranger did at last show
me some needed mercy from the scorching sun.
The first day I
tried this strategy I was picked up by a truly stereotypical Italian.
He was a middle-aged man, he had half-long hair with certain dimly
grey streaks, a moustache, sun-glasses and a pink shirt carefully
unbuttoned at the top, driving a black cabriolet through the Tuscan
landscape to the sound of Italian techno music. It was a
spectacularly strange experienced and I savoured every minute of it.
The second day I was
aided by another kind man, who was not particularly stereotypical but
nonetheless looked the way Italians in their sixties often look in
mafia movies. Unlike my first patron, this man spoke perfect English
and turned out to be a painter with a studio in Certaldo Alto, and it
was envigorating to hear him talk about his business. I was invited
to drop by whenever I had the time, but although I did set aside an
hour for this purpose, I couldn't find his studio despite directions.
I hope I get the chance later.
The third day I
tried hitch-hiking (which was the fifth day of my stay), I was picked
up by a man at my own age, who kindly drove me all the way to
Certaldo even though he lived outside the city centre. Like many
Italians his English was a bit lacking, yet it was far better than my
Italian, although I had some spirited conversations with my taxi
driver, despite the fact that his English vocabulary contained little
beyond "okay".
While waiting for the bus, I was visited by a beautiful rose chafer
These experiences
lay behind my optimism when I left for the train station the last
day. I left Casachianti very early in the morning and ventured into
the Tuscan hillscape while the sun was still merely a promise. It was
somewhat chilly in the air, yet I recall that the swallows were
already chirping wildly in the trees, having taken over the watch
from the nightly cicadas. On my previous wanderings in the area I had
learned a few important lessons - such as never, ever stand at level
with the car when you hear someone coming around a bend - and I
threaded the narrow road as the bends demanded, lugging my heavy
suitcase with me. Eventually, I noticed a change in the light and saw
that the sun was rising behind one of the narrow ridges, and although
there were several drivers racing through down the road, none of them
were willing to take me on board. Consequently, I was forced to walk
through the Tuscan morning on my own while the sun climbed steadily
into the air, trying my best to dodge the onslaught of Italian
drivers who seemed to care little about any signs urging them to slow
down for the sake of the children. About one hour and a half later,
however, I arrived at the train station.
It was a very mixed
experience to walk seven kilometers through the Tuscan hills like
that. On the plus side, I got to see the landscape in a rapidly
changing light which few people ever see, and it was a very beautiful
scenery that surrounded me all the way from the rugged hilltops of
Fiano to the vague suburbia of Certaldo. However, it was also a very
demanding journey as I time and again had to keep out of the way for
motocars seemingly intent on scissoring the roadside bushes, and I
had to cross the road several times in order to keep a clear view
when the road became particularly winding. I'm very glad I've done
it, if for nothing else than that it was a rather unique experience,
but it is very evident that that Tuscan countryside is not very
suitable for pedestrians. The roads are narrow, the drivers are fast
and - or so it appears - very reckless with what they might run over
in the process, and you can't abandon the road in the hope of finding
a deer track or walk along the vineyards, for the soil is crumbly and
there are thorny bushes stretching along the ground which you rarely
see before you stand ankle-deep in them. The beauty of Tuscany should
therefore, in other words, be chiefly enjoyed in a car when
traversing long distances, and the apostles' horses should only be
used when exploring some immediate vicinity.
Certaldo
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