Maybe it's just me but im feeling a little selfish at not being quite ready to return home .
These feelings of resentment did nothing what so ever to improve what was going to be our final day in the Tuscan hills.
Thinking that we had hurried Florence, we were intent on returning vowing not to get bogged down with the prospect of pacing endlessly around the narrow streets ( not knowing what were looking for ) but to slow down and take in the cultural breath that the city exhales.
Having took the car on our first trip and walking nearly a mile into town, we were fortunate enough to have a bus stop right outside our villa which only takes 10 minutes and drops you off within about 2 minutes of the most famous attractions. Times for the bus's had been kindly written down by our hostess so we didn't have the difficulty of trying to decipher and decode the complicated timetable (and there would be no rows about it just being easier to take the much more expensive route of getting a taxi ). We got to the bus stop 10 minutes before we needed to be there at around 8ish, thinking that florence may not be so heaving with tourists early on.
We waited and waited and waited, peering over the olive tree lined hills looking for any kind of glimpse of a bus arriving.
Half an hour had passed before we finally gave up hope again feeling so shameful and touristy that we couldn't even figure out the public transport.
Not to be deterred we jumped into the car, applied the plasters to our blisters and prepared ourselves once more for the short hike into the city.
Along with all the magnificent buildings and grand statues I had been mostly excited about seeing Florence's huge indoor food Market ,which promised to contain some if the best local fruit ,veg, olive oils, cheeses and other amazing Tuscan delicacies all at the best prices in the city.
It had taken half an hour of walking in the early morning searing heat but my child like excitement kept me going, I had done my research - I'd mapped out the exact location, I knew the exact times they opened and precisely knew that it was on every day apart from Sunday.
Then why oh why was one of the biggest highlights of my trip flattened when the whole hugely purpose built over whelming sized structure shut with not even a squashed grape on the floor to be seen?
Out came the map and the book on Florence we so often referred too, nothing gave any indication to why this Market which is on daily, would be closed today.
Before our tempers started to flare R and I decided to go and sit down and enjoy what perhaps could be our last Italian latte in florence, this careless decision only added to our already frustrated day in Florence.
You see as I have already said, I refuse to pay triple the price for a coffee when literally you can take a few steps walk and get the same type of beverage for a fraction of the price.
We continued trying extremely hard to not to start bickering with each other as we yet again paced the sometimes slightly rough and dirty streets of Florence, always finding something wrong with the street side cafes we passed - they were either highly expensive but extremely pretty or cheap and had toilets which they felt didn't require the need for a seat.
Finally just as my toe- thonged sandals had embedded them selves in between my toes we found a modern looking cafe with sleek bars and shiny cabinets filled with tiny mouthfulls of biscotti and bite- sized pastry delights and an aroma of fresh coffee that nearly made me faint with contentment , all of this for a 1.50 euro latte and a dreamy seat beside the famous Arno river.
I'll be honest I could of parked my aching legs and tender feet there all afternoon, just waisting away the time under the air conditioned fan of the Golden view bar and restaurant, Florence - http://www.goldenviewopenbar.com/
We were well into the afternoon when we made our return to apartment, just needing to stop by at our local store to gather a few belongings before we left the next day, by now we were starting to relax looking forward to making our last night in the area a memorable one by visiting s much acclaimed restaurant and deli that I had heard so many good reports about. Situated just inside the city Walls but in an area not known to tourists sat Zeb - a small osteria ran by a mother and son combination. With no tables, but a bar that runs around one side of his middle gally way, where from one side he sells his products from his delicatessen and from the other he serves the most delectable looking dishes.
The car park to the local grocery store seemed oddly quiet, usually by now the whole Italian neighbour hood and thier dogs are trying to ram thier cars into gaps that are clearly too small for thier already miniscule vehicles, into the car park closest to the shop.
The lights were off and there was no one to be seen inside- yet another public amenity was closed, there had to be a valid point that both R and I were completely in the dark over.
As I was starting to belive that we were destined to look like English fools forever I chanced a search on the Internet only to find out that 2nd of June in Italy is Italian republic day - COULD'NT SOMEONE OF TOLD US SO!!! This answered all the problems we Han encounter today - the lack if public transport, the closed shutters of the indoor food Market and the early closure of the corner shop.
This lifted my spirits slightly, I no longer believed that we were incompetent foreigners who couldn't even catch a bus.
On further research I found out that the restaurant I had been longing to go, Zeb remained open but it was adviserble to arrive no later than 7.30pm as after that the locals start to come in, in thier hoards making finding a seat utterly impossible.
We aimed to find a parking space as close as possible as the heat of the florence city at night would make in near unbearable to walk in. I calculated that we had driven round in a circle at least eight times, eyes glancing for a free space in which to park hoping, pleading that someone would pull out in front of us and release a free space. Each time we looped round my heart sank a little lower, it was 8.45 and the chances of even squeezing into Zeb, never-mind finding some where to park were looking extremely bleak.
We gave up before the stacked up frustrated emotions of day we had just had started to build a wetness in my eyes. We silently drove out of town wondering whether it would be easier to just bury our heads under the pillows and start afresh tomorrow, the only thing stopping us was the low rumbling noise in the back ground, slightly louder than the cars diesel engine that was erupting from our hollow stomachs.
Il Battibecco stood upon the side of a tuscan hill, shrouded by trees and in full bloom rose bushes, it had a very romantic theme with is narrow path edged with herbs and more exquisite smelling Roses, the low soft lights led to a beautiful one level building with a grand outdoor terrace. On entrance we passed a gleaming black grand piano that stood completely silent as if crying out to be played and enhance the settings even more. We were quickly greeted by what looked an ex 1980s pop star, compleat with snakeskin print trousers, dyed blond hair that every now and again drooped infront of his eyes only to be quickly swept back through his fingers, compleat with a little head twitch which locked his locks back into the perfect place and a gold- coloured shirt which was unbuttoned near enough to his navel, I think you can get the picture. How ever he was extremely friendly and quickly organised a waiter to take us to a table and offer us a glass of prosecco. Our surroundings were incredibly formal, polished silver cutlery, plates that we could see our reflection in and another complimentary appetiser of tomato aspic ( don't worry I had no idea what it was either but it turns out it's tomato consommé mixed with gelatine then placed in a mould to set before slicing, it sounds disgusting but is actually quite refreshing).
Dishes then included mixed salami and Parma ham with chicken liver pate on a crostini, Pecorino cheese with gently poached pears ( in red wine) with a small pot of strawberry jam. Both two simple dishes which comprise of minimum effort but maximum flavour.
For mains we were served chestnut crepe with ricotta filling and asparagus sauce and duck filled ravioli with a subtle sage and orange sauce. The only thing that stopped the crepe from tasting quite bland and ordinary was the slightly salty but rich thick green asparagus sauce, which could be a dish in it's own rights. Velvet in texture with an enjoyable fresh creamy taste I believe it completely carried the rest of the dish on it's shoulders.
The speciality of the chef was the uncommon duck ravioli, even though I am I devout lover if the normal spinach and ricotta filling it was a surprising change to have the soft and not at all fatty meat filling, which was finished with a glistening glaze of zesty orange and warming sage.
I was not prepared for such a formal setting ( although it was slightly spoilt by the tones of abba pulsing through the speakers ) but it ended up being quite a pleasant end to a weary day.
On paying our bill we were presented with a keep sake of our visit , what first looked like a goose i then looked closer and saw that it was a hand painted duck surrounded by oranges and sage leaves ( obviously a reminder of the ravioli ) what else could I of expected from a man who likes to expose his chest and play gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight in the background instead of playing soft italian pieces of music on his grand piano?
Plate tucked underneath my arm we headed to our local bar for a grappa to toast yet another memorable day in Tuscany
A few apologies-
Sorry for the long wait for the post, limited wi Fi has been cursing me along this trip ( hence such a long post) .
Also I apologise if the quality if the blog and its photos has altered, it's been the first time using my phone to blog so it's all use to me. Things will return to normal on Monday 6 th June .
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