Actually, this wasn’t a six man race; it was a 12 man race. While only six paddlers are in the boat at any one time, the format of the race dictated that six guys would paddle for 30 minutes. Then they’d jump out and six women would get in and paddle for 30 minutes. This went on until the end of the 30 mile race from Oxnard to the Channel Island of Anacapa and back.

30 miles is a long race and it’s all the longer with the water in the high 50’s as it was on race day. Still, the setting was stunning. Since my club didn’t enter the race, I used the opportunity to shoot photos from one of the escort boats. Not as fun as racing, but a heck of lot less work.

The race was hosted by the Oxnard Club.

SCORA is the organization responsible for the racing season and all the finish times. Here’s two of the main officials demonstrating their deep respect for each other during the pre-race safety meeting.

Approaching the lighthouse on Anacapa Island.

Who knew there was a massive sea arch ten miles off the coast of Southern California?

The racers jump out of the escort boat, into the chilly water, then tread water until the canoe comes along to pick them up. Then the paddlers fall out of the canoe and into the water just in time for the guys in the water to clamber into the boat and start hammering away. Jumping out of a perfectly sound boat into the middle of the deep blue ocean always adds a little excitement to the day.

For the uninitiated, paddlers will paddle for about 15 strokes on one side then switch to the other so they don’t get tired out on one side.  Here they’re in the middle of switching sides.

Nothing like a great day on the water.

All of these images were processed using the Toolkit Lightroom Presets. Either the Toy Camera B&W or Color. No Photoshop was used in the making of these images. The images are hosted on Smugmug where you can find more images from the race day.

John

Travel is nothing if not a learning experience. So much to take in and experience. New ideas and new people. One thing I learned is that I am not a man. I am a coward.

I also learned that the wild-eyed man who admonished me as I strolled through the Cinque Terre town of Vernazza was actually not a man as he appeared. No, he was a god. “You are not a man. You are a coward. I am a god!” went the tail end of his mostly unintelligible rant. Seeing as some lessons are more relevant than others, this is one I’ll just file away in the  “Italians Have Idiots Too” department.

After nearly a month in Florence, the end of our Italy trip was near. We decided to close out our Italian adventure with a trip to the almost mountain clad seaside towns of Cinque Terre. They’d taken on almost mythical status to me since every time I mentioned that my itinerary included this Italian version of Big Sur, folks’ faces would lights up followed by their proclamation of love for the area.

Before coming here, I really knew nothing about the place. Although Jen arranged the travel plans, I eagerly signed on, ready for something different. Getting there isn’t easy however. From Florence, it took four hours and three train transfers to finally emerge through the last rocky tunnel of our journey to the southern most Cinque Terre town of Riomaggiore.

Cinque Terre is made up of five small fishing villages that hug the steep mountains of the Italian Riviera. They’re 1,000 year old splashes of reds, yellows and oranges against the deep greens of the sea and vineyard covered mountainsides. They’re small, quaint and, as to be expected in this modern era, overrun by tourist hordes.

30 years ago, they were no doubt the land that time forgot. Now you can just forgeddabout any notions of peaceful village life. Today, visiting Cinque Terre is something like number four on the list of things that every American college student must do before getting a real job. (The three ahead of it would be 1) get laid 2) Spring break road trip and 3) get laid on Spring break road trip. I’m sure that tequila body shots are in there too.) Basically, this is the last pilgrimage of educated youth before selling out to the man.

Then there’s the masses who sold out to the man long ago and now have exactly 45 minutes to reclaim their youthful innocence. The senior citizens come en masse from far and wide to follow the well-worn tourist paths before being herded back onto the train for their next shuffle-and-run stops.

And finally there’s the ubiquitous Italian junior high school kids. These noisy, self-involved packs are like cast-off chewing gum. They’re a nuisance that’s hard to shake no matter how hard you try once you get step into the midst of a pack (or find yourself swarmed).

If you’re looking for a true small town Italian experience, don’t go to Cinque Terre. Or go when it’s snowing outside and a tidal wave is on the way. The good news though is that it’s fairly easy to get away from the throngs. The tour groups are like an old trail horse - they never stray from the well-worn path to the barn.

Here’s another piece of advice: when offered the room with the view, don’t take it. Don’t take it unless you’re ready to hike half-a-mile up 400 quaint-but-cockeyed stairs to a room at the top of a far mountain. I like climbing mountains and stairs and such, but it quickly loses its appeal when it’s required every time you want to stop in for a pee. (The public toilets are, as Jen put it, “gross.” I should mention that public toilets in Italy do not have a seat. Yuchie for girls; not such a big deal for guys.)

On our first afternoon, we took a walk from Riomaggiore to the next town over, Manarola. Truly magnificent. It’s called the Via dell’ Amore - the Lover’s Walk. The ocean crashes onto craggy rocks a hundred feet below. Tradition calls for romantically inclined couples to initial a padlock and attach it to a railing somewhere along the trail. Ah yes, a padlock with the key missing - the Italians even managed to invent the perfect metaphor for marriage.

The next morning, we woke to low clouds and softly falling rain. Fortunately, the air was cool, but not cold. We took the train to Vernazza, the second most northerly town, so that we could walk to to the northern most town of Monterosso al Mare. Since our previous walk had taken maybe 30 minutes including time to stop for photos and a beer, I didn’t think much of what the map claimed was a two hour hike.

But I was sandbagged. I’m a climber. I’ve day-hiked 13,000 foot peaks. Bagged most of the local peaks in Southern California and regularly train on a nearby peak just to stay fit. But this three-and-a-half hour hike with about a 1,000 feet of elevation gain kicked my butt.

It’s a beautiful hike - kind of like a spaghetti western Big Sur. Mountains disappearing into the crashing sea. Steep hillside vineyards. Ancient country gardens. Quaint stone walls and Mediterranean vistas that extend almost to the Roman era. Just don’t take it lightly. Like the rest of Cinque Terre, it’s all uphill - both ways.

Dinnertime is primetime. The tour groups have all moved on leaving the little towns to the locals and the few tourists hardy enough to make the ascent to their hotel-room-with-a-view. But the best thing about dinnertime is dinner. The only thing better than the views here is the food. Like all food in Italy, it’s fresh and it’s local.

Before I came to Italy, I received dozens of recommendations for restaurants. I never made it to one. No matter, the food in Italy is exceptional. It’s more difficult to find a bad restaurant than a good one. So I’m not going to make recommendations either since whatever restaurant you stumble into is likely to be divine.

On our first night here, we enjoyed a  perfectly cooked and seasoned tuna steak bigger than the biggest rib-eye I’ve ever seen. The sun-dried tomatos are beyond fantastic. The caprese salad with mouthwatering capers - superb. And the anchovies; I didn’t know that anchovies could be good given how bad the ones at home are. You’ll fall in love with them here.

The cooking here involves a different palate from Tuscany. I was afraid that, being so spoiled as I was in our Tuscan stay, I’d be disappointed with the food here. I’m happy to report that it may even be better, and, even dearer to this tightwad’s heart, cheaper.

A couple of tips: When you first get here, you’ll want to buy tickets for the seaside trail as well as the train. Not only is taking the train the easiest way to get from town to town, it’s great to take a load off after a long day of walking to and around and up and down your destination.

Although backpacking from town to town each night may seem like a grand adventure when planning your trip back at home, you may well be miserable without the right gear. The hike from Monterosso al Mare to Vernazza is steep, long and hot much of the year. Unless you have a serious backpack (not some dilettante travel-pack special), you’ll probably want to follow your inclination to turn around about twenty minutes into the hike. The train is your friend.

Day hiking from town to town is easy. The distances aren’t that far either. It’s easy enough to stay in one town, pick another town to walk to for the day and then take the train back.

The most accessible towns for walking around are Monterosso and Vernazza. They’re also the most jam packed with the tour group hordes so if you want a more authentic experience, book your lodging in one of the other three towns.

Don’t forget the ferry either. It runs during the day, rain or shine and stops at all but one (Corniglia) of the five towns. Nothing like being hot and sweaty after a long hike then stepping onto the boat to feel the cool breeze of the ocean on your face. Plus, unlike the train which goes mostly underground, you get a brilliant view of the mountainous seascape.

Although Corniglia isn’t on the ferry schedule, don’t think it’s not worth the visit. Because it’s a steep hike to access it from the train station and a long hike from the surrounding villages, it’s free from the tour group packs that overwhelm the other towns. The narrow winding path through town is reminiscent of Sienna and there’s plenty of character to boot.

And no one has more character than Mario, the proprietor of the wine shop Enoteca Con El Pirun. He’ll pour you white wine from his own label, treat you to his favorite local music and entertain you with photos and stories of his life in the little town. Upstairs is a quaint restaurant that I recommend you try - and let me know how you like it. In our hunger, we stopped at the first place we saw on the walk in from Vernazza and so missed dining in the actual town. Sometimes it pays to abide the hunger and walk a little further.

Not all the best moments require a long trek however. The hike from Riomaggiore to Manarola is the shortest and flattest of the bunch - just 15 minutes at a fast stroll and infinitely long taken at leisure. Despite its accessibility, it’s among the most scenic of the paths as it clings to the nearly vertical mountainside just out of reach from the waves swirling below.

Midway through the walk is a small outdoor bar. The terrace where it sits looks directly down to the foamy sea 200 feet below. As you sit down and ask for a beer, time slows and comes to a standstill. The endless sea and sky, the sounds of waves breaking onto rocks, the salty air, the remoteness, the lonely seagull circling nearby, the precipitous incline of the mountainside, all cast their spell of blissful contentedness on the heart while the mind goes quiet.

My suggestion is to never leave that spot. For when you do, you’ll want to come right back.

John

When I’m not out shooting photos or hunched over my computer, I’m often found training in my surf-ski or with Hanohano, a Hawaiian style outrigger canoe club. This past weekend was the first race of the year and was hosted by the team. Everyone pitched in to help set up, cook, take care of the canoes, serve beer or, if called upon, to drink beer (that would be me).

Actually, I helped out where I could, but I figured my main job was to document the fun and the action. I love the spirit of camaraderie that comes out on race day. I think it comes through in the photos too.

2010 Crystal Pier Race from John Mireles on Vimeo.

If you want to see individual photos or order prints, you can visit my online gallery: 2010 Crystal Pier.

Next week, Santa Barbara! (Though I think I might give the camera a rest.)

John

Today, we decided to rent a car and head down to Siena. We never made it there, but we had a one of our best days yet. Things started out rocky. The plan was to pick up the rental car early in the morning so we could get out of town with plenty of time for our full day. Little things quickly gummed up the works however.

It’s easy to tell time in the morning in Florence since the church bells go off every hour. I just count them and know when it’s time to get out of bed. This morning, I miscounted. So like someone who forgets to reset their watch when the time changes, I was an hour off. Or I should say, an hour late. Instead of being at the car rental office when I should of, I was back at the apartment thinking I had all the time in the world.

Which wouldn’t have been so bad but for the fact that I managed to lose our train tickets to Venice just after we bought them yesterday. Which meant so heading back to the station to stand in line, spend another 100 Euro all over again and kick myself for being such an idoit. By the time we finished standing in line, dealt with the tedious and unfriendly rental car clerk then finally drove off with our rental, we were a couple of hours behind schedule.

The good news was that we were upgraded to a Mini Cooper which made all the driving I did a lot more fun. My plan was to stop by the Prada outlet which is about an hour south of Florence on the way to Siena. It’s on the way, I’ve got the map, how hard can it be? Well, as to be expected when driving anywhere in Italy, we got lost, sidetracked and misdirected several times en route.

The Google Maps on Jen’s iPhone told us that we were standing in front of the building when, according to a couple local women walking by, it was actually ten kilometers down the road. When it comes to getting to a discount clothing store, I’ll trust a woman over the most advanced mapping technology any day.

Here’s a robot lawn mower that was doing it’s thing as we walked by during our search. The Italian villagers are surprisingly techie!

And an Italian window. Not all of them are old and pretty. Many are as dull as back home. Who knew?

The more lost we became, the more my little side journey became my quest! Jen wasn’t too interested in my program, but I was determined. When else in my life might have a such an opportunity again? Back on the road, we overshot our mark, but thanks to a gas station attendant, we turned around with clear directions in hand.

Here’s a snap from behind the gas station:

When we got to where it was supposed to be, there was nothing but a big sign and industrial building that read “Space.” I’d seen it on the way down, but drove right past it. Frustrated but determined, I drove slowly around until I saw some obvious shoppers who confirmed that I’d made it to the parking lot. Hurrah!

My heart was beating a little faster. Jen dug up a web page that said they only allowed so many shoppers in per day. “Did we make it soon enough?” I wondered. As we walked in the gate, this was the entrance that met us:

The Prada name is nowhere to be found on the outside. If you go looking for it, look for “Space” in the little town where it’s located and you won’t miss it. Before you walk in, each person is given a number by tall, dark haired and dark skinned Fabio gentleman. Just like what you’d expect in a move! I don’t know if they use the numbers to limit people or not. Here’s the little machine outside.

When I walked in, I experienced something truly fantastic, wonderful and new. I walked into a Prada store where I could actually afford the clothes inside! Wow! Never have I come close to experiencing such a thing. At the regular Prada store in Florence, I picked up a moderately cool hat. The $450 price tag had me drop it faster than a hot rock.

Not at the outlet. Oh no. There was nothing I couldn’t afford. Sure, the ostrich skin loafers were $450, but I could live without them. And a great selection of the best clothing on Earth. And great staff. I may have been at the discount outlet, but the store was still 100% Prada experience.

Granted, the prices weren’t exactly Walmart. We ended up spending as much as I spent to purchase my first four cars - combined. (So what if my second car cost 100 bucks? It ran!) But we walked out of there with bags of stuff for less than the regular price of the purse Jen bought. Plus, I now have the most kick-ass sport coat you will ever see anyone wear ever. Eat your heart out Joe Photo!

I couldn’t shoot photos inside the store. Normally, this does not deter this intrepid photographer. Just yesterday, I made it my goal to shoot photos inside the gallery where Michelangelo’s David is exhibited. The security is very tight there and the guards are constantly admonishing visitors with a harsh “No Photo!” Here’s one of my sneaky snaps:

All that said, the thought that I might get kicked out or black-balled from the Prada outlet was just too much for me to even consider pulling my camera out of my pocket. Miss out on the greatest sculpture of all time? No problem. Miss out on cheap Prada? Not on your life!

Finally, here’s a shot I took in the hip little restaurant they have next door.

Kristi Brooks, wardrobe stylist extraordinaire, this post is dedicated to you!

John

My self-assignment for today was to photograph just the normal, everyday sights that your average Italian would see. I wasn’t looking for beauty. Just the stuff of normalcy. I walked around a couple of towns just to see what was there and might catch my eye.

I decided to avoid any fancy treatment in Photoshop. Just clean and simple. Very Stephen Shore.

Stopped in at a local bar/restaurant in a small town. The American show Family Guy was playing on the TV. Compared to Italy, suburban US seems like another planet. I wondered if the Italians could even relate.

The day was sun but rain was forecast for the weekend so we had decided to rent a scooter to take advantage of the good weather. This time, we got a bigger scooter with a windshield. Fun times!

After we got further into the countryside, Jen got bored with me doing my cinema verite kind of stuff so we went back into tourist mode. We stopped off at a winery in an old castle. They had to call the woman from the back to pour us wine. Nothing like the big wineries where everything is so touristy. She didn’t even charge us.

Here’s the view from the terrace. I processed it all old school but now it doesn’t really go with the other photos. I processed it using my new Lightroom presets. Sometimes it’s just fun to play around.

Then it was off to another castle. This one sat high on a hill. We were all alone driving the scooter up a windy dirt road. So quiet when we got there. It was fun poking around in the rooms and ancient chapel. I think it would be spooky there at night though.

The 15th century Italians were surprisingly modern when it came to their lighting fixtures.

The roads led through some gorgeous farm country. Rolling hills with lots of green grass. We were out of the Chianti region so no vineyards. As we were heading down a twisting road, I spied a hilltop with a couple of trees and broad shadows from the puffy clouds overhead. I turned the scooter around at the bottom of the hill and raced back up so as to not miss the light. So glad I did.

And quite possibly one of my favorite shots to day from the trip. I just love the light, the softness, the painterly feel.

Then it was off to another little town with 700 year old buildings. This one even has a funicular to it from the newer part of the city.

By then, the shadows were getting longer and the warmth of the day began to slip away. Instead of stopping every few minutes and rolling slowly along, we raced straight away to Florence. Jen was sick and my eyes were tired, but speeding through the rolling hills and sweeping valleys on the bike was exhilarating nonetheless.

We got back not long before sunset. I got lost yet again getting back into the city and almost took out two other scooters trying to navigate traffic. Although I didn’t relish returning the scooter to the rental company, I was happy to have survived another outing in Florence traffic.

John

Okay folks, settle in with some popcorn for this post. It’s gonna be a long one!

Day before yesterday was a long day. Just getting out of bed was not easy. My legs are sore and aching from walking all over the city. Walking isn’t the hard part, it’s all the stopping and standing to look at art and take photos. After awhile, my back started to hurt, then my knee, now my ankles. Everything is sore!

To take a break from all the walking, we opted to sit our butts in a car for a little sight-seeing in the Tuscan countryside. Not only was the weather sunny, but the air warmed up too. No more sweaters and jackets!

First stop was San Gimignano, a medieval hilltop town with a penchant for building towers. It’s in the heart of the Chianti region which means that it’s surrounded by vineyards and olive trees. Although we’d already driven through the countryside, the colors and patterns still had us stopping with oohs and aahs.

The town is cute, but it’s full on touristville. Buses line up, pay parking lots, lines of curio shops as you walk in. You’ll be disappointed if you want the authentic small town Italian experience. Still, it’s well worth the visit. Maybe stay the night so you can have the place to yourself when the daytripping hoards leave.

After that it was off to Siena. The countryside was so gorgeous that we took the long winding way just to see what we could see. I wasn’t disappointed.

I’ve never seen colors and patterns like this together. Where I stopped the car, there was a farmer sharpening his saw to go into the olive trees and do some trimming. It’s truly a timeless place.

One thing I love about this place is how the roads and towns all follow high ridgelines. As we drive along, it almost feels like we’re in a plane. There’s also lots of roads to follow. In the US, there’s one road and the property surrounding it is all private so you miss out on a lot of the vistas. Here there’s so many side roads that you can get pretty much where ever you want to.

Along the road, we could see an old castle-walled city high on a hill. As we pulled into Monteriggioni, we could see a farmer plowing his fields. You could hear the old machine chugging along like you’d expect in an old movie.

For the past 700 years, people have been hanging their laundry to dry from the side of this building.

Next it was off to Siena. We’d already been driving for awhile, had just eaten and I was tired. I was ready to blow it off, but Jen insisted. I was ho-hum until we walked around a corner and saw this through the narrow alley way:

The tower in the main piazza is huge. All the cafes are arranged in a semi-circle so you can just sit and gawk in amazement. It’s almost skyscraper height but was built in the 14th century.

Then there’s the church…

And then there’s the twisting alleyways and ancient exposed woodwork. Siena is definitely worth spending some time visiting.

We had to leave Siena far too soon, but I wanted to hit the road to catch the evening light out in the countryside. Per Ian’s suggestion, I wanted to hit a couple towns south of Siena. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough daylight left. Still, we were treated to some magnificent vistas. I have no complaints.

I wish I could just crawl into this photo and live in it. Everything in it is so perfect.

And finally, as the last light drifted off the mountains…

Finally, it was back to Florence. By now, I’ve gotten the hang of the roads - except the last part getting over the bridge back to our apartment near the center. I think it only took about three wrong turns and four consultations with Google maps. A new record for us!

John

Today was a rest day. Trying to catch up on blogging, studying, images and, well, rest. Two days ago, we spent a long afternoon wandering the greens and walkways of Boboli Gardens on the other side of the Arno river from the center of Florence.

As I’ve come to expect from everything I’ve seen here, there’s wonderful and marvelous art and views with every place I visit. What’s truly amazing is that this used to be someone’s backyard.

I realize that these aren’t photographic masterpieces. They’re just snapshots from a long day on our feet. Hope you enjoy,

John

Yesterday’s post is a tough one to beat so I’m going to bring things down a notch. All day it rained. Cold. Dreary. Flat light.

We spent much of the day at the cathedral Santa Croce checking out not only gorgeous art, but the tombs of Michaelangelo, Galileo and, surprisingly, Machiavelli. (He being of morally ambivalent character - the Franciscans are surprisingly lenient as to whom they allow to be interred in their churches. They let Galileo in too. His excommunication was only recently repealed by the pope. The Franciscans were 400 years ahead of the curve on that one. Being excommunicated means that you’re not even allowed on church property - since you’ve been condemned to the fires of hell and all - let alone buried with a massive memorial in a monumental cathedral.)

In case you haven’t guessed, Santa Croce is a Franciscan church which means it’s run by the Order of Saint Francis. One of the highlights was seeing an actual robe worn by the saint. (There’s lots of bones of saints in Florence, not much of their wardrobe is on display however. It usually being burned at the time of their execution by the heathen tribe du jour - usually Romans.)

By the time we finished, I was hungry and freezing. Being Monday, many places were closed and the ones that were open were closed for the afternoon. After some walking, a few rejections and closed doors, we finally found a warm restaurant to settle down in. We drank a couple carafes of wine, had several courses and whiled away the afternoon

When we emerged, gone were the gray skies and dark clouds. Not a cloud was left! Just crisp warm light and blues skies. Finally!

So I grabbed my camera and headed out to catch the last hour of light as it raked across the buildings and alleys. Inspired by the hard light, I decided that my photographic theme for the day was to be shapes and shadows. Instead of trying to capture detail or tell a story about the specific objects in my photos, I’d look at them as abstract features in my compositions of light and dark. (Yes, I’m such the erudite photo dork.)

I recently read a quote from someone who said that the one great advantage that photography has over painting is black and white. So true!

My apologies to all those who are expecting more straight-forward holiday snaps. I try but something goes wrong, my focus get’s blown and I take picture of the wrong thing or the right thing with something in front of it!

That’s it for today gang. Stay tuned for something completely different tomorrow.

John

Today was a treat. Easter. In Florence. A spectacle.

We’d heard that there was a parade for Easter so we took off to the main square bright and early. As I walked out our front door, which is right in the thick of everything, I could hear the subtle sounds of a low rumble. I wasn’t sure at first if it was just traffic, but as we walked down the road, it became louder and louder. My pace quickened and my heart picked up.

Sound echos from tall stone buildings that make up Florence. The sound of 30 or more drummers crashes off the walls and thunders down the alleys. It’s a feeling to behold. A parade is just getting underway!

When we arrived on scene, there was just a handful of people. Quickly the crowd grew and we were treated to a 30 minute scene of flag tossing by, as my wife puts it, men in tights.

The heavy beat of the snare drums accentuates the sense of tradition that pervades the piazza. Everything around us is hundreds of years old. Even the costumes the men wore aren’t really costumes; they’re the same outfits that their forebears have worn for literally hundreds of years. There’s a sense of something bigger conveyed by the traditions being carried out today.

The crowd grew by leaps and bounds. Before long, moving through the ever more congested streets became a challenge. And then, a murmur ran through the scene. Around the corner came into a view a tall cart being towed by four massive oxen. (How often does anyone get to use that word?)

This cart was built in 1672 and has been in continuous use for this occasion ever since. This cart is 100 years older than my country, the United States. Talk about a sense of perspective. It should be in a museum, but here it is getting pulled along over the same flagstones year after year.

At this point, the crowds were too thick for me to get close to the action. As the cart was pulled into place, Easter mass was in session in the cathedral. Even above the noise of the packed masses, you could hear the words of the priest inside.

Outside, the church bells clanged. The dignitaries gathered round the cart. Workers quickly rigged the cart for the main event. Finally, after 30 minutes of patiently waiting, the drums and horns signaled that the moment had come.

From inside the giant cathedral flew a dove shaped rocket - set off by the priest inside the church. With a bang and an explosion, it hit the cart which spontaneously ignited with a roar. Rockets screeched and flew high into the air. Smoke billowed upward and outward. Fireworks exploded and cracked.

Again, the stone walls of the cathedral and surrounding buildings concentrated the sound, making the snaps and booms ever more intense. With every round of fireworks, the crowd roared with excitement. You didn’t need to be a kid nor a religious observer to enjoy the show.

Finally, it was over. Something like this could never happen in the US. Everything needs to be too controlled. The idea of a rocket flying from inside a church and smacking a 300 year old cart wouldn’t fly with the fire marshal, city hall nor even the nearby homeowner’s association.

The beauty of traveling is that one gets to enjoy experiences that aren’t possible in our home territory. I think our notion of what is possible grows and we become the better for it.

John

Today I had the bright idea that we should go for a ride in the Tuscan countryside. So, off I went in search of a rental car. After a quick walk a couple of blocks down the street to rental car alley, I walked into Avis looking forward to walking out with a shiny new mini-Fiat or something molto Italian.

Unfortunately, it being a holiday weekend, Avis was out of not just the Euro-specials, but all of their cars. So was the Eurocar shop. And the place next door to it. From door to door I went with the same answer from all of them. They’re all in a row so the rejection was quick and easy from one to the next.

My last stop was into some no-name hole in the wall. They gave me the same answer as everyone else: “No cars.” When the signore saw my dejected face, he offered, “But we do have one scooter left.”

Given that the weather has varied between cold, luke-warm and raining for the past few days, the idea of roaming the countryside in a scooter wasn’t what I was thinking. Before I could give it much thought, another customer walked in behind me also looking for that one last operable rental vehicle in Florence. I decided, what the heck, “I’ll take it. Grazia. Si Vous Plais. Per Favore. Gimmie the Scooter.”

Before I go on, I should explain that the Italians have taken scooters to high art. Everyone rides a scooter. Actually, I’ve seen many people driving cars, but I’ve yet to see an open parking spot so the issue isn’t so much driving cars as it is stopping them. Instead, both the rich and poor, male and female, young hip and old staid all putt-putt about town. I shouldn’t say that. The scooters here are almost as big as the small cars (which are puny to be sure). Some even have full canopies to protect their daredevil drivers.

Now I expected to get one of the luxurious scooters that were parked out in front of the little rental car shop. Something with a good sized engine and ample space for me and the wifey to hang on in back. Here’s what I was expecting from Guisseppi’s Maxirent Palazio:

Instead, we walk to the end of scooter row and I see this puny two-wheeler that calls a moped “daddy.” I ask what about those other ones? The signore tells me in broken English, “Oh this scooter is perfect for a ride in the city!

But I’m going to the country.

“Oh, this scooter she is perfect for a ride in the country.”

Meanwhile I’m looking to see where the candid camera is hidden.

So off we go. It’s been twenty years since I’ve ridden one of these things. I’m a little nervous to be relearning my scooter skills on an underpowered hamster wheel in the middle of the perpetual rally car race that is Florence. Miraculously, we make it out of the city and out into the hills. Even though the point was to get lost, we even managed to get lost in the right direction.

We’re soon rewarded with winding roads and beautiful views. Man I want one of these things! (Except with 750 cc’s, a fat tail pipe, and a sissy bar so that my old lady can lean back in her black tassled leather pants.) I now understand what people mean when they talk about a Tuscan color palette. Mottled olives, grays, dark greens, and mustards dotted the hillside.

What’s great is that all the mile markers are in… kilometers. So something that’s 10 miles on the sign away is actually only 6. Before we know it, we’re getting lost in little towns with only one road and just enough signs to confuse Americans who rarely leave the interstate.

The air was cold, but the feeling of not knowing where we were going and the possibility of discovering something new made it easy to forget that my Hugo Boss jacket was much better looking than it was practical. Up we climbed into the mountains until we came to this little restaurant high above a valley.

And here’s a photo of the menu in case you might want to phone in an order. I had the ravioli with the insalate. Yes, it was as good as you might imagine. Fresh. And perfectly accompanied by a glass of Chiante - from a local vinter seeing as we were in the Chiante region.

Then it was back on the road. After awhile, the cold air and the fact that I shared a small seat with Jen tempered the excitement that I’d felt earlier. It was time to point the scooter north.

But the views were sublime.

I don’t have any photos of the last part of my story. I was too busy holding on, fighting the cobblestones and traffic. Getting back into the city was an epic. It’s truly a city where you can’t get there from here. Major streets would just end with no way out. The problem is that much of the central part of Florence is off-limits to cars.

Actually, it’s off-limits to some cars but not others. Given that I don’t read Italian nor do I subscribe to their Formula One driving habits, I alternately felt like the smallest head of cattle caught in a stampede or a salmon swimming against the stream (with my demise awaiting me).

By the way, Italians have great respect for the right of way of pedestrians and other vehicles. They believe you have the right to get the hell out of their way. This was a right that I duly exercised and somehow managed to survive.

Tomorrow is Easter. They light the fireworks in the church which in turn light fireworks outside amid throngs of people. Should be yet another thing the likes of which I will never see in the USA.

John