When we’ve been on holiday as a family, we’ve sometimes looked at the other tables over breakfast and noted that most of time the occupants are either chatting amicably or - more often with solitary couples - looking as if they are reconsidering their life choices.
The three of us read over breakfast. Not necessarily in silence: you may hear us say something like, “I find myself utterly captivated by the intricate and masterful manner in which Kate Atkinson intertwines her narratives, crafting them with a subtlety and sophistication that eludes the pedestrian mind” or maybe a “Pass the butter, please”.
I suspect most onlookers - if any - would drop us into the “reconsidering life choices” category, but we’re very happy. We even organised ourselves a Reading Holiday once. We loved it.
So today was Reading Day. No dramatic almost-missed connecting flights; no CAN next my train. I started by walking into the “old town”. This has a very high, very sturdy wall that, presumably, is intended to keep the Bad Guys out. Hopefully they won’t notice the little gaps that allow the Good Guys access.
I stopped for a coffee at what looked like a lovely little cafe en route. It took quite a long time for the waiter to approach my table. While I was waiting, I took a photo although to be honest I had enough time to paint a picture:
Maybe I look threatening or otherwise bizarre, but whereas he brought a menu to every other table, with me he approached and hoisted up one eyebrow, Roger Moore style. I knew what I wanted: “Cafe latte please”. He went off.
I suspect it took a minute or so to make the coffee, and it then loitered for ten minutes before it was delivered to me. Admittedly I hadn’t asked for a hot coffee so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. The whole episode was disappointing. I’m sure that my experience was atypical: it could so easily have been great.
Move on. There was a park about 1km away so my trusty Kindle and I set off. I found myself a little shady table and set about reading a bit more Kate Atkinson. It was beautifully warm and I was out of the sun, just relaxing. Some time later, I woke up and re-started reading Ms A.
Post-Kating, I wandered back into the town and discovered a side street I’d not noticed before. After a quick coffee-plus-pistachio ice cream (you have to, don’t you?) I found a few nice looking restaurants. As I write, it’s 17:00 so the street is earmarked (what an odd expression) for a return visit in a few hours’ time.
A few hours later #
Apparently “earmark” derives from a cut or mark in the ear of sheep and cattle to show ownership (every day’s a school day). Off to my earmarked street and I found a little place that would let me sit outside and eat my pizza. It was a little unfortunate that the table next to me was full of smokers, and this being outside meant smoking was OK. I didn’t let that spoil my pizza.
The streets in the old town aren’t completely traffic-free, but few vehicles seem to be allowed in. That does mean, though, when walking joyfully along the streets, one needs to be cognisant of the possibility of something mechanical creeping up behind. The streets are quite pretty at night.
I also passed the rather splendid Palazzo Salimbeni, a palace built in the 14th century. Today it’s the home of the Banca Monte dei Paschi di Siena, the oldest bank in the world (see what I mean about schooldays?). Anyway, here it is in all its splendiferousness:
Tomorrow? Maybe Florence.