Prato (and some place called Florence)

Let me start by saying that Prato is not Florence.
It's small, its plazas and statues have not been well maintained (although they're working on this issue), there are only a few museums, it doesn't have the Arno. It also doesn't have throngs of crowds so thick you say to yourself "This must be what it's like running with the bulls in Pamplona."

Last time I thought that our sense of disappointment in Florence was due to visiting it on a Monday (closed museums) and the fact that it was pouring rain. But sunshine and a Wednesday didn't improve anything. In fact, I liked it less this time around.
Maybe the first time it was simply that we were there later in the season, maybe the rain drew the crowds away, whatever the case, this time around I felt like I was back in Venice. Even if you don't suffer from enochlophobia as I do (yes, it's real, it's listed in the DSM), it's difficult to understand how one would enjoy visiting a place when you've got to share the space with so many thousands of people. In practical terms, it's just so hard to see anything. (I make this comment with complete awareness that I, by my own tourist presence, was contributing to the throng).

However, Florence (Firenze for you purists) is only a 20 minute train ride from Prato so we had to give it a go. Our trip mainly consisted of walking in circles trying to find a museum without a 5 hour wait to get in.

On the plus side, we had a lovely lunch in an unexpected place: the Mercato Centrale and managed to get some time in the Medici museum which momentarily assuaged my guilt over not keeping up with the boys' school work as well as I had hoped we would (who am I kidding I knew we'd get behind).

Then it was back to Prato which was where we really enjoyed ourselves. Enrico's recommendations were spot on, we enjoyed one restaurant so much we broke our strict rule and went twice (the only other place we allowed ourselves to do that was La Sosta in Lake Garda). The second time we were treated to one of the best waiters on the planet. The kind of waiter who, after you order, thinks for a moment and says "I think you'll like this soup better," points to the menu, describes it a little and when said soup arrives you spend a few minutes with your family being amazed that such a bowl of goodness could exist in the same world where Hot Pockets are manufactured and sold as items to be consumed. It is the sort of soup we will dream about and talk about for years to come. The sort of thing against which every other soup will try to measure up and will invariably fail.

But back to Prato.

There were lovely gelaterias, some even more lovely bars and the Museo di Palazzo Pretorio which in itself probably isn't so remarkable (the avant-garde films I could do without and the ceiling-high medieval art depicting the beheading of John the Baptist is not my cup of tea) but the timing of our visit and the arrival of a thunderstorm made it really memorable. By the time we got to the fifth floor (my favorite, I prefer ivory statues to dark oil paintings of decapitations) it was directly overhead, with thunder so loud it rattled the windows. We spent a while not only looking at the great view but also hiding out since none of us had brought umbrellas or rain coats.

Over all we had quite a bit of rain which some might find disheartening but for us drought-weary Californians it was refreshing. Despite the rain the temperatures stayed in the low to mid 70s so it was never unpleasant.

They had rain in Florence too. And I'm sure the weather was balmy as well. But the thought of being smacked in the head by 30,000 umbrellas while trying to get a photo of a corner of some famous sight or other doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. Prato isn't as impressive but I'll take its quiet, slightly dilapidated, empty streets and plazas over noise and crowds any day.

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The Medici Museum, lunch and other random bits of Florence.

Prato.

Monica, I know I promised you a photo of the Aperol spritz but this is the only one I could find. For as many as I drank, you'd think I would have a better one. Get ready to try one when we return!

The Villa in Prato

If holidays were like books, films or military campaigns and had names, this one would be called "The Holiday of the Hill."

Our house in Romania has a hill in the back which is one of the first things the boys want to climb when we arrive. We climb up to get a view of the village, to see how much bigger certain trees are, to see what has flourished, what has died, to stretch our legs after the hours of travel and to give the dogs a chance to rebond with us.
It's something we do to make us feel at home again.

I don't recall ever feeling the need to have this experience while we were out traveling. Yet during this holiday we seemed totally unable to avoid hiking hills.

It started in Budapest with the swanky apartment which was located near the citadel. If you all had traveled there as I suggested, you would know that the hike to the citadel is not for the faint of heart. (Really, if you have cardiopulmonary issues you should not do it). And there we were, hiking it several times a day.

On to Lake Garda, the inclines of which I have already described.

On to Monterosso where our apartment was set in the hill above the town. It was a short walk, yes, but a steep one.

Then we arrive in Prato and are driving around to find the house and marveling to ourselves at how wide and flat the streets are (by this I mean a car and a bicycle can both fit with only minimal chance of death and dismemberment) at which point we are told by our trusty online map to make a turn and lo and behold, we begin to go up a hill.

Incline issues aside, what was really lovely about this house was how secluded it felt and yet how near to the city center it was. About a seven minute walk to the train station, a few more minutes to get inside the wall of the old city.

We were met by Angelica and Enrico and while they helped us get settled in Angelica told us how she grew up in the house and raised her children there. Five generations of her family lived there until a few years ago when they began renting it out for holiday visitors. They were extremely generous with the food they provided (I'm talking eggs, bread, jams, wine) and really made us feel welcome.

Once again we were provided with excellent recommendations for restaurants, bars, gelato and sights to see. Enrico was as spot on as Novella and Daniella were. Plus, as Mircea pointed out, he was just a "cool dude." He and his wife, Giulia, met us in the city one day for a gelato and a stroll. A stroll on flat streets, mind you, the hill hike they generously left for us to do alone. After all, they did not sign up for "The Holiday of the Hill." Neither did we, as I recall, but there you have it.