The Montepulciano Debacle

We set out with the best of intentions.

We set out with the most harmless assumptions.

The Italian public transport system had other plans for us…

My friend Waka and I set out for the nearby bus-stop at 6.30am on a Saturday morning. The plan was: a bus to Piazza del Sale, and a fifteen minute walk to the station from where we would leave for Montepulciano at 7.25am. Seems simple enough, right?

After going one stop too many, we got off and started walking at a leisurely pace toward Siena’s main station as we ostensibly had heaps of time. Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind: “I haven’t checked the time-table for myself. I’m going on what Waka said two days ago.” Sure enough, when I had a look, the bus was arriving at 7.05am, not 7.25am. We ran! But as it turns out, the bus was late, not us.

We mounted the bus; relieved to be sitting in it after the frenzied half an hour it took us to reach it. Our relief, however, soon turned into stupefied incredulity when the Montepulciano bus stopped right opposite our apartment to pick up passengers. We never needed to go to the station! We laughed, we lamented, we got over it and we did what most people would do on a long bus ride at that hour of the morning: we fell asleep.

“Montepulciano! Montepulciano!” yelled the bus driver.

We hurriedly grabbed our things and alighted from the bus, which stopped outside a bar (for those of you unfamiliar with the Italian bar, it serves quick breakfasts and coffees in the morning). Within a minute of entering the bar it was quickly made known to us that we were not in Montepulciano, but a tiny little town called Buonconvento. What the heck?!!

There were only three possible reasons this could have happened: (1) Waka and I were simultaneously having the same dream about the bus driver’s announcement; (2) the bus driver didn’t have a clue about his own bus route and didn’t know where he was; or (3) he was telling the people getting on from the back where the bus was headed. You choose…

In any case, we were stranded at 8am on a freezing cold day and the next bus was not until 1:50pm. We took on board a few helpful tips from a local street cleaner and saw what there was to see at Buonconvento; that is, all that we could see past the condensation fog produced by our own breathing!

Notwithstanding a mad dash to then catch the bus out of Buonconvento (we were having a meaningful discussion about something and forgot the time!), we did eventually make it to the illusive Montepulciano. BUT when we got there, it was pouring and we were too tired to care. So we had a pisolino (nap) until dinner-time when the most we were up for was a brief evening stroll and food at a nearby restaurant.

It was nice to get back to the hotel and relax after a day dictated by buses. But just when we thought we were free of the public transport tyranny, we realised that there was no bus back to Siena the following day!

Are you getting sick of this story? So were we!

So Sunday morning: An obligatory look around Montepulciano in the pouring rain was followed by a mutual glance between Waka and I that said one thing: “I am so ready to move on.” (That was around 10:30am!).

We were then forced to catch an expensive taxi to Montalcino from where there would be a bus back to Siena. I know you’re thinking we should have checked the Sunday bus schedule previously, but Montepulciano is a much bigger and more touristy town than Montalcino (from where I knew there was a bus) so it didn’t even cross my mind that we could be stranded there!

Okay… so surely that’s it. Surely nothing else could go wrong with the bus? Wrong. We got to Montalcino around noon and found that there was a festival going on. We grabbed some lunch and took in some of the medieval oddities on show while waiting for the 2:48pm bus.

Alas… 3.45pm arrived and we were still peering expectantly up the road in the vain hope that our chariot would arrive. No dice.

So we found a crowd control guy who was working the festival and inquired after our bus. He rang through to someone who had a clue and alas… the bus was never going to arrive at that stop because the city had been shut down to buses for the event. Great. The next bus was at 6.33pm and had to be caught from a stop further out from the city walls. Don’t you just want to scream at this point?! In fact, we would have done so if our senses of humour weren’t just a little bit ironical. All we could do was laugh.

So after a further three hours of time killing, we were picked up by a compassionate bus driver, whom we had flagged down to ask whether we would ever in fact depart from this town. He said, his bus wasn’t going to Siena but that he would take us to the petrol station where he knew the Siena bus driver was coming to refuel.

While standing around waiting, we did have a few doubts. After all, we were totally dependent on the promise of this driver. We held our tickets with anticipation and discussed our fondly cherished dream of validating them.

And then finally… salvation!

All we did the whole weekend was wait on a flipping bus, but somehow it was one of the most hilarious weekends of my life!

Montalcino

First of all I have to say – I am incredibly tired and I hope this blog makes sense.

Second, I must observe that ever since I arrived in Siena, I seem to be cosmically linked to the Swiss! Just as I was mourning the loss of my regular (and coincidentally Swiss) friends at school, I have inherited a fresh contingent of Svizzeri (as they are called in Italian) to hang with.

Leading up to the Palio, the contrada where I live holds a festival – of sorts – for ten days during which there is a party every night! Until this weekend I had heard the ruckus but never attended. Then, on Saturday morning I went to the museum at Palazzo Pubblico with a group from my language school. While there, I got chatting with these Swiss girls, who were quickly becoming my new friends, and they invited me go with them to the “festa” that night.

I thought, since it keeps me up anyway, I might as well see what all the noise is about. The party is held primarily for the local community but entrance is free and anyone can attend. I’ve walked past this particular doorway may times but never realised what was inside. From the street, one enters a foyer and descends several flights of stairs only to arrive in a massive garden! Not an indoor one, a proper outdoor garden. It’s so strange! You would never know from the street that such a thing could exist beyond the entrance.

When we arrived, the music was loud loud loud and the dance floor was packed to overflowing. There were stalls for food and bars for drinks, copious large tables where the community had eaten dinner together a couple of hours earlier and people infesting every nook and cranny of the place. The sense of community is beautiful but other than that, it wasn’t really my scene.

We lost one of the girls who had found an interesting boy to talk to and we waited two hours for her to arrive at the designated meeting spot. We were far from impressed, but found a way to laugh about it while we waited. Actually, laughing comes pretty easy with Shadi around. What a great girl! It also helped that there was a beautiful view for us to examine and comment on. I guess you could call it a wonder of nature; evidence of God’s creative genius… It was the best looking boy I have seen in this country to date! Mamma mia. (No Leo, I didn’t take a photo for you).

When the prodigal girl hath returneth, we left and all got home around 3am. This would have been bearable had we not planned to meet the next morning to visit Montalcino.

Montalcino is a little town in the Tuscan countryside, which is famous for its Brunello wine. It was such a hilarious day! The town was quiet and all of us were incredibly tired. We trekked out to see a certain fountain that was promised by the signage, but when we got there, it was just an empty brick structure with not a drop of flowing water!! We promptly commenced a laughing fit that lasted much of the succeeding hour.

After this trek and consequent hysteria, we were even more exhausted but, nevertheless, headed for the museum.

When we arrived, I spotted some benches and proposed a break before entering. This break turned into an hour long nap for me; an intermittent snooze session for Daniela; and a comical hotchpotch of conversation for Shadi, Madlaina and Adriana, who, when I awoke, were doing their best impersonations of camp men strutting down a catwalk.

We never made it the last three metres to the museum.

Instead, we purchased our second round of gelato and killed time with conversation and people watching until our bus arrived. We were the most ineffective tourists ever to have set foot in Montalcino.

If you want to know what Montalcino really has to offer – don’t ask us.