Locals & Locales

A trip up into the vineyards. This is the true Tuscany. Everywhere large, colourful mansions dot the hillsides, overlooking their expanses of neatly terraced vineyards or olive groves … almost overlapping with their neighbours. Tall, dark pencils of cypresses accentuating the spring green of deciduous woods. I don’t think either of us expected Tuscany to be this lush. Even under cloudy skies, the greens were almost luminous … the blood-red poppies (just beginning to appear along the roadsides and crumbly walls) created brilliant splashes of colour.

There were endless unspoiled towns and hamlets to explore … rustic churches … cottage gardens overflowing with deliciously fragrant rambling roses or purple and white wisteria … tiny hump-backed bridges over weed-filled streams … vocal guard dogs from behind fences – sounding quite vicious as they rattled the gates. Seems everyone has an Attenti al cani (Beware of Dog) notice on their property. We’d just ambled passed one sleepy bar with a few stolid men sitting over their drinks, who eyed us with some curiosity … we offered up a cheerful Buon Giorno in their general direction and actually got a chorus of replies. Things are looking up! The pedestrian-only main street was a cornucopia of houses in coloured plaster, ancient stone or a wonderful chunky almost pink rock …each with newly-painted dark green shutters … the kind that bend outwards on the lower half. A weather-worn door, for reasons unknown, clung precariously to its second floor wall — no steps or balcony to offset the sudden drop!

A diminutive personage materialized from a nearby house, wearing a blue T-shirt with the word “STAFF” written in large letters across the back — he seemed most interested in learning where we were from. With no English, just our rather abysmal Italian … introductions were made (he was Tony) and we struck up a conversation. He seemed delighted to learn we were from Canada (no we didn’t speak much French in our part). We chatted about the sudden drop in temperature and rain (we were used to that!) … good for his garden. He opened two massive iron gates and showed us his plot. Piselli (peas) already with full pods – he thrust some into our hands. Bushes of Fava beans (again we got samples) … spiky artichokes like giant thistles .. lettuces … onions and garlic … newly planted rows of potatoes … and a lemon picked right off the tree. He was just off to work (never did find out where he was STAFF to), but to Glen’s delight he opened a shed door to reveal a rusty and well-used green Ape truck. With a clatter of exhaust, Tony fired up the machine and after shaking our hands, disappeared up the road with a wave and an acrid cloud of black smoke.

Lucca’s tallest tower is the Torre Guinigi with its cap of growing Holm Oaks. There used to be around 250 towers, but now only 9 remain within the walls of the city … still plenty in the surrounding area though. Seven oaks grace the top – one for each of Francesco Guinigi’s sons <I’ll let you into a secret, there are actually eleven oaks – four are small saplings growing under their bigger brethren, in case something happens to the originals>. Two hundred and thirty steps to the top — thankfully now on the inside, but they used to be outside! — and three hundred and sixty degrees of view around the whole city … all beautifully shaded by the trees, even on the hottest day. Quite a sight. When Napoleon raided the city back in the early 1800’s he gave the city to his sister Elisa, and it was she who maintained the walls and planted the avenues of trees all around them. Still enjoyed daily by locals and tourists alike … morning and evening joggers … dog walkers … hundreds of bike riders … or simply sitting on benches or grassy areas to eat a lunch.

Two things in Italy are … a bit of a challenge. One is recycling. There are a series of coloured plastic bins, which can be stacked one inside the other … rather like Ukrainian nesting dolls. Collection days vary from place-to-place, but here in Lucca the Brown bins for organic kitchen waste are put out on Tuesday and Friday nights (collected in the early morning); White on Wednesday (paper & cardboard); Thursday is grey (the stuff no-one wants); Sunday is Green for glass and Yellow for mixed recyclables goes out on Mondays … the list of acceptable items for each is quite lengthy and particular – Styrofoam is OK for recyclables; grocery till tapes, however, are not paper. (The only thing I wonder about is do they ACTUALLY recycle this stuff … or does it all get dumped into one giant receptacle behind the scenes <grin>)

Street parking is the other issue. You have to be VERY observant. Blue signs with a red cross mean No Parking – sometimes there are times listed but if it’s 0-24, then you’re out of luck. Lines along the curbs come in three colours: blue is for paid parking – usually limited to a few hours; yellow is strictly for residents (permit required); and white is free BUT there are catches. You have to walk to the beginning of that street and look up at the sign, haul out your phone to do a bit of translating/calculating on Google calendar to determine what is and isn’t allowed. We scouted the area on foot before picking up the car. The road in front of us has no restrictions, but as you can imagine it’s ALWAYS full of cars, literally shoe-horned in. There’s a large parking area about an 8 minute walk away, but on the 2nd and 4th Saturdays of each month you cannot park there between 6:30-9:30 am for street cleaning purposes. A few roads over it’s the 1st and 3rd Wednesdays of each month, and so on. And then there are the ZTL zones! Mostly in the old, historical, narrow-laned town centres … they’ll sometimes have a well-marked sign but often it’s just a round, white sign with a red rim sign stuck to the side of a building. These are no-go areas, unless you actually live there. Many an unwary visitor has overlooked said sign, and a year or two later received a ticket (it takes a while to filter through the red tape of car rental, police forms, etc!).

Lucchese are very proud of their home-grown composer – Giacomo Puccini. Since 2004, this is the only place in the world where concerts of his music are performed every evening at 7pm throughout the year. Sometimes it’s just his music or operas – other days they mix in Verdi or Mozart. With a company of almost 60 professional opera singers, 4 accompanists, 2 symphony orchestras, 2 choirs, 4 conductors and an official web tv channel … it’s a going concern.

It was to be Puccini and Verdi the evening we went – with selections from Tosca, Aida, Madame Butterfly, Il Trovatore, Turandot and others … it was a mix of familiar and less well known. Just a small venue, seating maybe 70 -80 … it began to fill as 7pm approached. The accompanist in bow tie and evening jacket came in and adjusted the piano/music/seat, etc. The music director dashed in an out. A rotund fellow in a light blue leisure suit with open-necked shirt wandered across the stage before disappearing behind a screen. “Do you suppose he’s the tenor?” whispered Glen (he certainly had the physique). Never liking to be right in the front, we sat in the third row with a good view of the stage. At the last moment, however, two large individuals squeezed in plonked themselves down. Ah well.

Mezzosoprano Maria Salvini swept onto the stage in a gorgeous black sequined dress – every inch the glamourous performer, and with a voice to match. Coy, sultry, vivacious as the music dictated — brilliant. Turned out our fellow in the blue suit was the tenor … and what a voice … almost lifted the roof and made your ears ring. The buttons on his waistcoat straining valiantly (somehow his last name Spratt didn’t seem to fit). It was a beautiful setting and very enjoyable interlude … with only one negative … the two in front who videoed and photographed the whole way through. Incredibly distracting when phones are held at eye level. Even after tapping the man on the shoulder and politely asking him to put his phone away … he merely lowered it two inches, and continued. We did get a final chuckle though. As everyone stood to applaud, her phone slid to the floor unnoticed (I was sorely tempted to slide it further … but didn’t!). There was a frantic flap as she realized it was missing .. pushing her husband/partner out of his seat .. shaking out coats .. even turning to glare at us as though we had some part in it. It was difficult to keep a straight face.

The two neighbourhood shops have become regular haunts: Mr. ‘Salumieri’ next door for his ravioli … he’s a quiet gentleman, always smiling and nothing is too much trouble as he prepares cuts of meat to a customer’s preference; Mr. & Mrs. ‘Alimentari Frutta e Verdura’ every morning for the world’s BEST pane Franchese (baguette) wrapped in plain brown paper. I don’t know which bakery he gets them from, but you can’t wait to cut into that exquisite crusty interior and slather on some butter and marmalade. After that first crunchy bite, there’s an almost indescribable ‘gritty’ sensation as everything melds into the soft interior. Oh how we’ll miss this.