Cortona

17-Settembre-2011

Dave and I came up with yet another new business plan.  This one is really great, far surpassing all the previous ones.  Foringer and Fredlund (F+F) Travel Agency…”Pay for us to go along, and we’ll show you a good time.”  We'll even take pictures.  We just need to find the right clients.

Dave drove to Cortona, the hillside with a town clinging to it.  All the hill towns have their steep sections, but Cortona is just one big hill with a cathedral on top.  And even higher, the fortress of the Medicis sits completely above the church.   

But as striking as the topography is, Mary and Becky were unimpressed.  For them, the pinnacle of Cortona was the shopping.  They went off singing to the tune of “My favorite things.”  “Leather boots and handbags and presents for Katie, these are a few of our purchases here…”  

Yes, the bag accompanied us home.

Speaking of our daughter Katie, Mary and I tried twice to get through to her using our phone card, but no luck.  Annoying that the pay phone tells you that you are connected, yet there is no one on the line.  Was it because we were calling a cell phone?  Who knows?  This is Italy.  But it did indicate that it was taking our money.  Such a deal!    Thanks to Dave’s iPad, we were able to send her a happy birthday e-mail.  First time in her 27 years that we were not with her to celebrate on her birthday.  Mary and I were very sad about that.  For 10 minutes.

Dave made it all the way to the fortress with me.  It’s quite a hike.  You go up and up through the narrow streets and alleys defined by the stone walls of the houses.  People live up here, climbing the steep incline every day.  It must be great for their hearts.  Eat all the pasta and sausage you want.  

You can sit on the steps and catch your breath.

The sounds of the town slowly subsided as we climbed higher.  Living here must be peaceful, and the views are fabulous.  Part way up, Dave pointed out how helicopters were flying below us, and later mentioned that he was sure this was the highest he had ever been above sea level without the help of an airplane.  At one of our rest stops, he confided that he felt good about making the trip without his heart exploding, particularly since his family history did not predispose him to attaining altitude on foot.  

 We explored the fortress for a short time. It's not surprising that the Fortezza was never overtaken.  

Yes Sir!  Now that we've finally climbed this mountain, you want us to scale what?

From the battlements, we drank in the vast expanse below. 

Soon we wandered back down to find the ladies at an outdoor café overlooking the central piazza.  We only stayed long enough to recover from the journey and enjoy a beer in the sun, since we were planning on eating at a restaurant that Mary had read about in the Rick Steve’s guide book.  And just long enough, of course, to record the Bloomie's visit to Cortona.

At our late lunch, La Bucaccia was rockin’ to the noise of the loud owner/waiter, and also to the anniversary-related celebration of the group of English surgeons next to us in the tiny dining room.  The volume peaked when the waiter served them grapa from a glass pouring device affixed to the bottle top.  First, he poured the powerful liqueur into the one of the raised shot glasses, which to everyone’s delight, immediately started to blink.  The doctor with the glass instinctively moved it as soon as it lit up, so the waiter was left with a bit more grapa left in the globular glass measure.  The waiter moved the bottle with the measure over the head of the doctor and began to slowly rotate the bottle so that the measuring glass would soon be upside down.  Avoiding disaster, the doctor rolled his head back and opened his mouth just as the grapa fell.  A loud cheer went up from all in the restaurant.  Mary commented, “I don’t want him operating on me.”  

Mary and I were pleased to have been able to return to Cortona.  Great town.  On the way back to the car, I showed Mary the shop where she bought her Etruscan ring the previous time.  “I can’t believe you found that shop.  I’ve been looking for it all day.”  So I can find a shop we went to once over two years ago, but I can’t remember where I left our passports, or what I had for breakfast.  First signs of mental decline, no doubt.  Or maybe the second sign, according to Dave…the first is smelling burnt toast when there is none. 

Back at Ortaglia, I finally hopped into the pool.  It was invigorating and enjoyable, though the water temperature was well below what any Italiano would brave.  And it was great to breast stroke across the placid pool and look out over the infinity edge toward the vineyard.   

We opened a bottle of wine at poolside and enjoyed the dropping temperatures.  After dinner at a roadside pizzeria that was quite good, we did a final walk around at Montepulciano before heading back to pack and listen to overly loud Bostonians keep us awake.  





We awoke to find that we had committed a faux pas the previous night by going right to bed instead of going down to the kitchen to have a drink with Terenzio and his wife Mara.  Before we went off the eat and say farewell to Montepulciano, he had asked us to drop in for grapa.  None of us really wanted any of that particular beverage, having experience with the drain bamage it causes, so we went to bed.  But the communication had been imperfect.  What he really meant was that they wanted to have a farewell drink with us.  Wine, water, whatever.  It would not have bothered anyone if they hadn’t waited up…but they did.  Too late to do anything about it, I apologized for the misunderstanding and cultural ignorance.

“You’ll have to come back so we can do it next time,” he offered.  

Works for me.

Montepuciano from Relais Ortaglia