Part one:
Leaving the country. Easy enough. Get packed on Saturday, then set off mid morning Sunday for an easy ride along some nice roads to catch the Eurotunnel train. Except we didn’t pack until Sunday morning and had to do a motorway dash to get there on time, but we did get there and boarded the train without a problem. I was getting prepared for a long and boring journey, but it only took about half an hour once the train got moving. A remarkably efficient service so I can only assume that the French are in charge of running it.
It was halfway under the English Channel that we realized we may not make the Motorail train in time. Not really being a seasoned traveler, when I booked the tickets I was sitting in England using an English web page, so assumed the times listed would be English times like the Eurotunnel. Nope, they were Continental times (yes, it’s obvious now), an hour ahead of us. Oops! We got to France and promptly legged it off to try and find the Motorail terminal which is actually in Calais town, a good ten minutes ride from the Eurotunnel terminal if you know where you’re going, which we didn’t.
Eventually we found it. After a bit of explaining and negotiating we were told that unfortunately we were too late to get the bikes put on. We’d missed our slot by minutes, most annoying. However, they could put us onto the next train which would be going to Narbonne rather than Nice, so all was not lost.
Anzac and Mrs. Anzac’s bikes lashed down onto the train we missed.
The sleeper train was interesting, not something we’d done before. It did have a kind of James Bond appeal to it, but there were no acts of international espionage or murders that we were aware of. So we arrived at Narbonne the following day rather than Nice, with an extra 258 miles to do to get back on track.
It was hot, up in the high thirties. Certainly too hot for Debz as she got quite ill and had to have a stop after 100 miles or so to get back down to an acceptable operating temperature. After that at every petrol stop we bought two litres of water, drank half and tipped the rest into our lids and leathers to keep cool. We weren’t going to get to Florence that night, so we pulled into Marina di Carrera at about 9pm, found a hotel and booked in.
The next day was a bit easier with only 98 miles to do, so we had a late start and a bimble down to Pisa before heading East to Florence.
There’s always somewhere to park your bike in Italy (My Falco on the left, Debz' Tuono on the right).
Last time I was there, no one was allowed to climb the tower, this time people were going up it. We decided that climbing it in bike gear was not a good idea.
And so onto Florence. It was good to see it again after nearly 16 years and fun showing Debz around as she’d not been before. We got settled into the hotel, had a shower and went out for a night on the town. As we were a day late we didn’t have as much time as we’d have liked, so stuck to the main tourist sites.
Again, no shortage of bike parking in Italy.
Old and new building seamlessly blended together, something we desperately need to learn how to do in the UK.
Sun setting over the river Arno from the Ponte Vecchio.
Buskers on the Ponte Vecchio. A guitar, a violin and two voices playing Italian songs and occasional Radiohead covers.
Some dodgey paedo statue.
This summer has been exceptionally good for Italian mosquitoes, we were lunch it seemed, collecting about twenty big bites between us. Very itchy. The next day was spent getting bitten again, investigating the Duomo, the jaw-droppingly impressive cathederal towering over the rest of the city, the Bolboli Gardens and a quick look round the Galleria dell'Accademia to have a point and a snigger at David's willy.
538 years old and still the largest masonry dome in the world.
3600 square metres of painted surface, Heaven at the top, Hell at the bottom, everything else in the middle.
Some demons having fun torturing a naughty person.
110 metres (350 feet approx) up above the streets of Florence.
Looking over the old medieval city centre to the Boboli Gardens on the hill.
View of the Duomo from the Boboli Gardens.
The rear of the Pitti Palace, the Boboli Gardens form its 11 acre ‘back yard’.
Fountain featuring an ape scratching it’s butt.
New sculpture, very weird, but good.
The Florentine burbs are overlooked by the gardens.
Despite missed trains, mild heatstroke, and being munched on by tiny Italian vampires it was a very rewarding few days, I like Tuscany and Florence in particular so it was good to go back again.
