Jackie and I left Manciano at 8am heading toward somewhere north of Firenze. We were not sure how far we would get so we have left the rest of the trip sans destination with the hope and prayer that we will find some accommodation wherever we stop. Mom, Lori and Alice left Manciano as well, heading south to Roma.
Our first stop was to yet another incredible Tuscany hill town called Magliano. After all the hill towns in Tuscano, why another one, you ask? I answer thusly: When we visited Nora in NC on the first night, we reviewed a coffee table book called “The Most Beautiful Hill Towns of Tuscany” and saw lots of great scenes. 
One of the pictures looks a lot like, OK, it looks EXACTLY like a large painting hanging over the fireplace in the den of Villa Vienneau. This photo was taken…wait for it…in Magliano and we were determined to determine the location of this scene and take our own photo. So that’s what we did. Here is a picture of the picture in the book, and here is also the picture we took this morning. We thought we might have the right place, but alas, and a lack, while similar, they are different. We will indeed compare the book and our photo to the painting.
One of the pictures looks a lot like, OK, it looks EXACTLY like a large painting hanging over the fireplace in the den of Villa Vienneau. This photo was taken…wait for it…in Magliano and we were determined to determine the location of this scene and take our own photo. So that’s what we did. Here is a picture of the picture in the book, and here is also the picture we took this morning. We thought we might have the right place, but alas, and a lack, while similar, they are different. We will indeed compare the book and our photo to the painting. 
After a quick warm up at a bar…yes, they call the espresso place a bar. (that’s espresso, not EXpresso, for all you uninitiated. Supposably, people here go Nucular when you pronounce it Expresso) We moved on toward Firenze. The weather was atrocious and getting worse. Heavy fog, heavy rain, twisty roads, crazy Mario Andretti drivin’ Italians crawling up my backside like I was some Jimmy The Thing lookin’ newbie at "Riker’s Island Maximum Security Prison, Jiffy Lube and Hair Care". Anyway, the weather went from atrocious to extraordinarily atrocious, so we went on past Firenze opting to avoid getting sodden and cold just to gaze upon some 400 year old marble statue’s junk. On to Milano. Jackie took over the driving and the snow began the minute she took the wheel. She got us through blizzard conditions while watching the temp gauge on the dashboard go from 8 degrees Celsius to -1 degree in about 5 minutes. She got us through Bologna (no, we didn’t see that kid whose Bologna has a first name, spelled Oscar.) Just west of Bologna, heading toward Milano on the A-1, four lanes of heavy traffic stopped dead and stayed dead for about 2 hours. (well, we did inch up a few times.) We travelled about 14km over about 2 1/
2 hours while the snow fell, and the engine drank diesel. And YES Mr. Gore, Jackie did shut the engine off many times in order to conserve fuel and avoid fouling the air! We figured there was a massive accident or the weather was considerably worse than what we were in because we have driven at breakneck speeds in the Colorado mountains on treadless tires in much worse conditions than this. And after all, these hills are the foothills to the Alps for goodness sakes! These Italians should be able to negotiate this stuff with no sweat. But NOOOOOOOOO. Once we got to the apex of a small rise in the road, the little ice that was on the road disappeared, and thusly, so did the traffic jam.
2 hours while the snow fell, and the engine drank diesel. And YES Mr. Gore, Jackie did shut the engine off many times in order to conserve fuel and avoid fouling the air! We figured there was a massive accident or the weather was considerably worse than what we were in because we have driven at breakneck speeds in the Colorado mountains on treadless tires in much worse conditions than this. And after all, these hills are the foothills to the Alps for goodness sakes! These Italians should be able to negotiate this stuff with no sweat. But NOOOOOOOOO. Once we got to the apex of a small rise in the road, the little ice that was on the road disappeared, and thusly, so did the traffic jam. We motored on to Milano where we found the Crown Royal (no that’s a whiskey) the Crown Plaza Hotel where we decided to put in for the night. Perfect timing. We arrived right as a very large variety bus finished disgorging, disembarking, virtually puking its contents in the portico of the hotel and we watched in horror as about 100 really frustrated Swedes descended upon the two sweet looking front desk clerks in an effort to check in and get at those tasty little chocolates that awaited their watering mouths on the pillows of their respective beds. Jackie and I just wanted a place to lay our heads, as the song by The Band says. Remember when we described the Roller Derby Grocery Shopping where the Italian Mammas got all kinds of Medieval on Jackie and Lori? They got nothing on a bunch of Swedes who have been bumped off their SAS flight after sitting on the tarmac of the airport in Milano for 11 hours watching thousands of orange suited “Aircraft De-Icing and Hair Care Technicians" looking like a large mound of fire ants just got kicked over, spray some agent orange type stuff all over the plane, over and over and over and over and over again with the Swedes, remember the Swedes? having had nothing to eat or drink but large cakes of pure, solid salt washed down with a few drops of warm, flat mineral water. These people were on a mission from God. We elbowed our way to the front like a bunch of middle-aged women at an Eagles concert only to get to the front desk to find that the room rate is a neat 600 euros. Holy Shit we thought? 600 euros for a bed and a shower and a couple of chocolates? Whatthehell? We figured. Good news, kids…turns out the real rate was only 122. So not only did we win the Swedish Rock’em-Sock’em Robot Hotel Front Desk Championship Bout, we didn’t have to mortgage Katie and Kristin’s dwindling inheritance to get some sleep.
Going to try to see some of Milano tomorrow and then on to the land of the Swiss, and the home of the toughest guards who ever wore polychromatic tights and puffy shirts. If you Protestants don’t get that reference, ask your Jewish friends.
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