I'm really not sure how we ended up here in Lucca. Italy was never on our list of countries to visit on this trip. Not because we didn't want to. We just wanted to make sure we had at least a few weeks, and preferably more, to slowly savour everything this long dreamed of but never visited place had to offer. That wasn't in the cards (or the budget) for this trip. We had to pick our European stops carefully and Italy is not what you'd call a budget destination.
When it became obvious that the most convenient and economical way to get from Croatia to the south of France was via Tuscany, we worked in a one week stopover along the way. I asked a few friends who had been to Italy to give me the name of one place off the main tourist track to chill out for a week. No famous museums, no religious world headquarters, no renaissance masterpieces, no canals. The consensus was on Lucca. I'd never heard of it. Perfect. It was only after we'd made up our minds that I learned that my brother's former exchange student, who became like a third child to them, was from here. Better yet her mom, Flora, still lives here and was willing to show us around. Some things are simply meant to be.
Lucca is just what you dream of when you think of Tuscany. After crossing the Adriatic on a ferry from Split, Croatia to Ancona, Italy we jumped on a series of fast and efficient trains to Bologna (Oscar Meyer has a way with . . .), Florence and finally Lucca. The old City is surrounded by a series of concentric-ish walls starting with the original Roman, followed by a medieval and finally a renaissance wall that has survived perfectly to this day. The top of the wall has been transformed into a fabulous, tree lined walking/running/bike path that takes you on a 4 km loop around the old city perimeter. Along the way, locals and tourists sit in the shade enjoying a glass of wine, antipasti or gelato. It's dreamy.
Every morning since we arrived, we have walked to the walls for a family jog. We normally split up in pairs and head off in different directions, meeting half way around for a partner change. I prefer to be teamed up with Shannon. First, she's about my speed. Second, I never need to speak a word when running with her. For five days now she has saturated us with a continuous monologue about the dog she wants to get when we return to Canada. Name, type, walking responsibilities, where we'll get it, where it will sleep, how we'll train it, on and on and on ad naseum. Deb reports that the same stream of consciousness continues when we change partners. She doesn't really talk about it at other times. Only when we exercise. Within a couple of seconds of the start of our run she pipes up - "so, about this dog again." She doesn't ask questions, unless they are purely rhetorical in nature. Sometimes I have to murmur (or gasp) "uh huh" or "oh yeah," but never more. Unlike most times when her gums are flapping, I find thus quite soothing on a run. Like a Buddhist prayer chant. Today, just when I thought she'd completely exhausted the topic, she came up with a fresh angle. "What about a three legged dog? If we got a three legged dog, we might need a second one to take care of it and go for runs with." Brilliant. We had shut the door completely on getting two dogs - one for each kid. In a stroke of positional negotiating genius, she has now tabled the option of one and three quarter dogs! What do you counter THAT with? And what if she accepted the counter offer? Does such a creature exist? It seems in the world of sibling rivalry, owning a partial dog outright is preferential to sharing a complete member of the species. Of course she didn't specify who gets the fractional dog. She's holding that one up her sleeve. I'll need the wisdom of Solomon to make it through the next run.
Here is a 24 hour snapshot of life in Tuscanny this week:
7:00 am. - kids wake up no matter what time they went to bed.
7:30 am. - while still in bed, I vow to get to bed earlier tonight and not drink the whole bottle of wine at dinner tonight
8:00 am. - Deb or I finally crawl out of bed to break up a fist fight over an orange or a touched body part (accidental or intentional depending upon the witness testimony)
8:15 am. - rich aroma of coffee steaming away on the Italian press spreads through our apartment
8:30 am. - walk next door for fresh bread that is by now almost sold out and three hours out of the oven (but still crunchy and warm in the brown paper bag)
8:45 am. - standard breakfast: poached eggs, bread with jam, cereal with yogurt, fresh fruit, juice and coffee
9:00 am. - a little bit of homework while the parents tidy up.
10:30 am. - walk down to the city walls for a 40 - 50 minute jog before it gets too hot. Grab a coffee to go from our favorite little joint on the way back.
10:45 am. - I stop at the neighborhood shops for cheese, meat, wine and vegetables for lunch while the rest of the gang has a shower
11:00 am. - cold shower
11:15 am. - a little more homework before lunch
12:30 pm. - lunch on veranda as soon as the sun hits it.
1:00 pm. - relax for a while on the veranda, taking in the silence that descends over the place around siesta time. When in Rome . . .
3:00 pm - stroll through the old city streets taking in all the amazing sites and sounds as the place comes back to life for the afternoon. Stop for a coffee, check out a shop or two, buy more wine, bread, cheese or meat from one of the overpriced but irresistible little boutique shops that line each stone alley
6:00 pm - stop in at Pizzeria Ninni around the corner from our place for one of their fresh and crispy big salads, a big hot pie right out of the wood fired oven, a glass of red or one of their impressive selection of beers from around the world.
8:00 pm - take in one of the live musical performances that are staged every night. Maybe a selection of Verde and Puccinni in a stone cathedral where the voices of the performers fill every crack and cranny and make your core vibrate.
10:30 - a final glass of wine on the veranda after the kids are in bed. "Did we drink that whole bottle?!" Do some planning or read a little to the sound of the gurgling fountain in the park across the street that seems to get louder and louder as the noise of the day winds down.
4:30 am - partially awake to sounds outside. Are the kids up already? No, it's just the workers at the bakery next door starting their early morning rituals. "I'll get up at 6 and get my choice of the first steaming loaves out of the oven," I say to myself as I fall back to sleep, knowing it's a lie.
7:00 am - repeat
We've thrown a few twists into this routine of course. One day we took the train to Pisa only 20 minutes from here. Climbed the tower, walked through the gorgeous cathedral, took the pictures. Another afternoon we rented bikes and joined the countless locals and visitors peddling their way through the narrow streets and atop the old walls. We made our way north of the old city and rode for a few hours along the banks of the Serchio river which makes its way past Lucca from the hills of Tuscany en route to the sea. Bright red and orange poppies swayed gently in green fields on the edge of the pathway and the smells of farmland filled our noses. The highlight was a home cooked meal at Flora's where she treated us, in addition to her lovely Sicilian hospitality, to fresh juicy wedges of cantaloupe wrapped in thin sliced prosciutto, olives, bread, cheese, salami, wine, baked tomatoes coated in bread crumbs, capers and parmigean and fresh al dente pasta with a tangy and delicious tomato sauce. We washed it down with cheese cake from a lovely dessert shop just outside the walls and hot, black coffee. Thanks Flora. You made our visit here so memorable. We will seriously consider your offer to spend our next year off right here in Lucca. It's a slice of Tuscan paradise.
Tomorrow we head to Florence for a night before backtracking to Cinque Terre for a few days of hiking by the sea. There is so much more to see and do around here. Unfortunately, a week doesn't begin to do it justice. I guess that's why people keep coming back to Italy. I reckon we will too.

Ciao for now di Italia.