The Doh Pisa Code

An earlier start. Off to Pisa. With a stop to check the tyres. But the machines were busted.

A day of startling clarity as we chugged across the green waters of the snaky Arno as it nears the sea at Pisa. Crowds and crowds of people, tourist market stalls and a high town wall of ancient stone. And then the startling entrance into the Piazza dei Miracoli. (Try these in bigger).

I'd never been before and it is quite miraculous. The richness and abundance of the carving, the masonry in rough weathered marble, the ancient graffiti carved into the walls, the church rising out of the green sward like a bleached Winchester Cathedral and the tower that seems to defy gravity.

We drifted with the crowds in the staggering light. We did the hand thing (extra). And found a little place to eat a calzone.

As we ate I asked the woman behind the bar why they had the number 58 in black and white displayed around the shop. She said it had something to do with an old Pisa tradition (extra).

If anyone can identify the tradition in question I'll send you a copy of my forthcoming Peter May-esque blockbuster, Around the Hills of Tuscany on a Wine Box.


So that was it. The time had run out and the plane back to East Midlands beckoned. We said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways having packed  more than enough good cheer into three and a half days to keep the spirits up and the heads aching. (Although we found that the 12% session wine from the Co-op at Pontassieve saved us from the worst).

I then proceeded to find the longest way home without actually going into another region of Italy. Five hours later having skirted Volterra, San Gimignano, Barberino Val D'Elsa and driven along the tiniest lanes and dandered by valley-bottom vineyards devastated by the recent frosts I arrived back at the Pelegaccio.

On the way I passed a remarkable piece of public art that suggested only one interpretation (extra) and a terraced hillside of olive trees of quintessential Tuscan beauty (extra).