Living La Dolce Vita – An Italian Holiday

It may be apparent from previous writings that I have a wanderlust.

Covid put a stop to our foreign travel. But this has been the year we got back on a plane.

Our 11 year old requested Italy to gorge on pasta, pizza and gelato. Sounded like a plan.

My last trip to Italy was in 2006. Four months after we met, a long weekend in Rome had been the first foreign excursion for me and the future Mrs. J. A trip that was an eye opener into the carnage of Roman city traffic. Sure, the ancient buildings are spectacular, but its the traffic that you need to watch out for. 

Should you ever visit Rome, don’t think that you’re safe using a crossing.

A phalanx of mopeds are the hidden menace, darting out from behind the other traffic. It was like a real life game of Crossy Road. 

Best approach is to be very patient, wait for the slightest gap and run. The drivers are experienced at the game, they’ll (probably) miss you. 

Fortunately, this year’s location of Viareggio wasn’t so intense.

The crossings are still a random factor of ‘will they or won’t they stop,’ but there’s a lot less traffic. A new feature of the idiosyncrasies of Italian roads was that we constantly found random cars parked in places they shouldn’t. On crossings, sticking out into traffic, on a pavement. Appears to be an unwritten rule that as long as you leave your hazard lights on its fine to abandon your car wherever you like.

Viareggio is located on the Tuscany coast. Dramatically sited with the jagged Apuan Alps rearing up a few miles inland.

I’d not come across the Italian approach to beaches before. The few metres where sea meets sand is public but the rest of the beach are concessions, known as “Bagni,” granted by the local authorities. In Viareggio they stretched for miles, each Bagni a uniform size, covered in ordered rows of closely packed parasols and sun loungers and offering a beach bar / restaurant. An entry fee is required. 

So while the actual shoreline is public, you have to pay to access a Bagni to reach it. Unless you’ve done your homework and can locate the narrow patch of sand that isn’t a Bagni. From which you can reach the shoreline and are free to walk the thin strip of sand between the parasols and sea. 

Although our hotel had a deal with a Bagni that gave us free access, we only went the once. It wasn’t that busy, but when you’re used to the freedom of being able to pick out your own spot and wander at will, the constriction of having neighbours right next to you on all sides, and endless rows of parasols in all directions blocking any view of the sea, felt very limiting. 

Luckily for us, our grand old art deco hotel had a pool along with a relaxing garden shaded by pine trees

(Though I did beat her in the swimming a width of the pool underwater contest. Not that it’s a competition. Unless I’m winning.)

Pre holiday research told us that its compulsory to wear a swimming cap in Italian pools. Apparently, for hygiene reasons, and even for someone like me who is lacking in follicles. I looked forward to rocking the matchstick look; pale white body topped with a colourful tight latex wrapped head. Despite the hotel website and poolside warnings no one was wearing them.

Our swim caps remained unused. Fashion’s loss. 

Despite some of the iniquities of Italian beaches and transport system, it is a wonderful place.

The people were warm and friendly. The hotel had a touch of the Grand Budapest about it, but this one is still in its pomp. The food turned out to be more fine dining than we had expected. Not a single slice of pizza served all week.

Each February Viareggio hosts one of the largest carnivals in the world. There are banners along the esplanade with pictures of huge floats towering over the buildings. Definitely something to go back for. 

We had planned to take the train to Florence and wallow in a day of cultural indulgence. On the coast in Viareggio it was hot but an hour and a half inland Florence was another 10°F hotter. We decided that sweating our way round the Uffizi didn’t sound so great. 

We did make it the short distance to Pisa.

With helpful instructions from our hotel we took the bus. A simple act but one which the Italians have added complications to.

Which is where the instructions failed me. I quickly surmised that the ticket didn’t match the size of the slot. In lieu of any available instructions or clue as to what to do I stood there contemplating the futility of life until a local took pity on me. To fit the slot the ticket is folded in half. Simple. Yet so exasperatingly stupid that they don’t make the ticket fit the slot without the need to be folded. Or provide any instruction to do this. 

It’s possible that this is because it provides the bus companies with an excellent source of income through fines.

We were fortunate that our hotel told us what to do. A French family having bought their tickets from the driver sat behind us. They asked how we got ours. Despite the fact the driver isn’t supposed to sell tickets he had taken pity on them.

Or to see it another way: ripped them off by charging them 50% more than we paid. 

As we waited for our bus back from Pisa we saw a family ejected from a bus and issued with fines for not having valid tickets. It was like the seven stages of grief. We watched them go through shock, denial, anger, bargaining and pleading. Five minutes later as our bus arrived, they were still at it. So we never got to witness acceptance. Then again, I don’t think they’ll have reached it.

Having been closed to the public from 1990 to 2001 while the lean was stabilised, the tower is open for visitors to climb. 

The second most noticeable thing once you’re inside is: its hollow. It’s purpose is a bell tower, so inside its just one long tube with a staircase spiraling up through the walls. 

The official website says there are 273 steps to the top and its 58.36m tall. Other sources say 296 steps and 55.86m. You’d think they’d know by now. I was too busy perspiring to verify. What I do know is that climbing those stairs is like a carnival fun house. The unique positioning of the tower means that as you loop upwards the stairs are constantly varying in pitch so you go from walking upstairs but with the sense you’re angling down to going up at an unnaturally steeper angle. To mess with your head a bit more, 800+ years worth of feet have worn the steps into uneven forms. 

Temperatures that day were pushing 100°F. The breeze at the top was refreshing but the effort of climbing up and down however many stairs it is left us with sweat emanating from all parts and pooling unpleasantly in places it really shouldn’t. It wasn’t pretty.

Fortunately the tower was last on our itinerary. There seems something inappropriate about entering a cathedral as a hot sweaty mess.  

Those other buildings are a visual overload, especially inside the cathedral.

The Baptistery is much plainer inside but has a double dome structure which apparently gives it exceptional acoustics.

The Camposanto is a large oblong shaped building enclosing a grassed courtyard. It’s a cemetery, with tombs lying under your feet marked by inscribed stone slabs.

The inner walls are lined by huge frescoes dating from the 12th to 15th century.

The most impressive is The Triumph of Death cycle by Buonamico Buffalmacco and Francesco Traini.

Despite being hugely popular with tourists most of the piazza is covered in grass – on which it is strictly prohibited from encroaching on.

While the paths are busy with tourists, it gives a sense of scale to the buildings with so much space being free from the camera wielding hordes. 

Many of whom who are engaged in the time honoured tradition of posing as if they’re holding up the tower. Or pushing it over. Or contorting themselves into precariously balanced shapes to pretend they’re kicking it over, leaning on it, etc. 

Hope the photos give a sense of how impressive the Piazza dei Miracoli is. It is appropriately named. 

One last photo.

Whether these shoes are impressive or not I’ll let you decide. It definitely comes under NSFW. Unless you want a visit from HR.

We visited Viareggio’s; Galleria D’Arte Moderna E Contemporanea (I reckon even the linguistically challenged can work that one out).

A small but impressive collection that was running an exhibition on the life of Gabriele D’Annunzio:

And judging by his shoes:

Pervert. 

Ciao!

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