Tuscan day tripping

On day two of our Tuscan adventure, Rosa and I ate copious amounts of pasta, booked ourselves onto a wine tasting and hillside wandering tour and faced off with a Siena City Bus. As is the case with all battles of man versus machinery, we lost. Big time. but we also learned a valuable lesson: if a journey will take you 30 minutes to walk but the seemingly straightfoward bus will take you ten minutes, walk. Always walk. Always.

Two hours and four journeys around the hospital roundabout later, we ended roughly where we started getting a tourist glimpse of the what would be equivalent to the Calendonian Road/Hornsey Estates parts of Siena.

But we perserved and hopped on our Italian-guided minibus tour of Monteriggioni, San Gimignano and a vineyard whose name escapes me. Between teeth-grinding driving, we were given the local history of the area, which revolved around ancient feuds over land between the Florentines and the Sienese. Thus, fortress walled towns like Monteriggioni popped up around the various vineyards and fields in between.
Monteriggioni







San Gimignano
After an hour of dipping in and out of city walls and craft shops, our lovely tour guide herded us back into the bus and over to San Gimignano, home to artisans, beautiful wine and one of Italy's most prosperous old Roman Roads that served as a major stopping point for Catholic pilgrims on their way to the Vatican.






Today, it houses lots of gelato stops and tourist mayhem, but the city's fourteen towers can be seen from miles away.
We wandered for roughly two hours before making our way back to the mini-bus and to our last stop.

Wine Tasting
Now this is where i'm really sad i haven't written down intimate details because the last stop on our little day trip happened to be to a beautiful, beautiful vineyard owned by a terribly flirtatious Italian man and his family somewhere in the tuscan foothills filled from end to end with Chianti grapes. The vineyard had been in his family for three/four generations and though it ran like a well oiled machine, the winery maintained a very intimate feel. Rosa and I got slowly drunk off of sweet red wine, dry white wine, olive oil and even truffle oil whilst glimpsing out into the terrace.




After a series of this-isn't-my-life moments, Rosa bought a bottle of truffle oil and we stumbled on home clutching our stomachs and feeling beyond grateful to be in europe.

Siena, Toscana

In April, as the two-week Easter term break rapidly approached, I had a lot going on with work, life and such. I went on a manic spring cleaning of my flat, cleared out lots of things to donate to the local charity shop and decided that 2011 would be the year that I learned how to iron. All of this in avoidance of two things: 1. training and running the 2011 London Marathon 2. becoming an adult.

In between all of this, I planned my easter travels. Since I get two weeks of work off for the term break, I usually take the time to go on a longer trip--either home to Michigan or further afield. Somewhere exciting, like, Nebraska. Unfortunately, the date for the London Marathon fell on the weekend smack in the middle of the holiday so my visions of cornfields, scarecrows and broad, endless plains went up in smoke.

I settled on Tuscany instead.

As usual, and much to the dismay of my travel buddy, Rosa, things got planned in a very shoddy last minute manner. We settled on a four day Tuscan break pre-marathon, run the marathon and a five day semana santa break in Seville post-marathon. And after scouring maps, we opted to base ourselves in Siena for the pre-marathon trip.

One hop of a flight into Pisa and a train ride later, we arrived and checked into our rather post-modern hotel 3k from Siena city centre. We knew nothing about the city, which is sometimes the best way to travel. We frequented our local patiserrie for a 80-cent double espresso and took off for the walled environs of Siennan spring.

Because i've left this so long to blog, the mundane details elude me. All I know is that the sun shines differently in Tuscany--the rays touch the buildings and everything feels magical.
of course, entering a city enclosed in old Roman walls doesn't hurt.
and neither does really good, really cheap espresso housed directly next to your hotel.
how about rolling hills in every direction?



and there was lots of lizard-like lounging in siena's central piazza

and wandering through and around narrow alleyways


and ending the day like this? nothing better.

maybe i was meant to be italian.

Thailand and Malaysia bound!

Well, the summer holidays have officially arrived in Britain and i'm seizing the moment. My coworker Jon and I are off to Thailand and Malaysia tonight around 10:30pm. We're meeting my friend, Sara, from my Edinburgh University days somewhere near the Koh San Road in Bangkok on Thursday and then it's onto glorious Chiang Mai, Phuket, Koh Tao, et al.

I may try to do quick post updates as and when along the trip; we'll be gone from the today until the 25th of August so it's a long one!

And when I get back, i've got to get blogging the rest of the 2010-2011 academic year's travels: Tuscany, the London Marathon, Seville and Cyprus.

In the meantime, bon voyage!

The Needle

tomorrow I forge into a world anew. For the first time in the best part of ten years, I step foot inside a doctor's office and let them willingly inject me with (hopefully) innocuous bacterial pustules that were once festering deep in the forests of southeast asia. this is a big deal. a very, very big deal.

A testament or manifesto, let's say, to my love for travel.

Thailand, Malaysia, you better be worth it.

17 days 'til takeoff...

Hemel Hempsted 20 Miler

In our last long run, pre-marathon, Chuck, Rosa and I headed to the bourgeious town of Hemel Hempsted in greater Hertfordshire to complete a whopping 20-mile run. There's something about running 20 miles before one pm that makes you feel accomplished. Like, whatever else you do in the day doesn't matter. You win. Regardless of what the question is, you win.

Rosa had run a shorter version of the course in previous weeks and prepared us for the worst--immense uphill stretches, a muddy section on the canal and unmanned wilderness. With that in mind, I prepared for the run a whole three days in advance. This involved not just extreme carb loading and laying off the alcohol but also thinking positively, dreaming positively and believing positively. For me, running is 120% mental, and I'm really good at psyching myself out.

The morning of the run, the sky began spitting down its anger on us. Chuck kept spirits high by joking and telling us that this race would be the most difficult--the marathon would be a breeze after an uphill, unsupported course. In hindsight, he was wrong, but i'll get to that a few entries down the line.

I aimed for a finish time of 3:30:00. Chuck started ahead of us, in the faster pace group and we never saw him during the race. Rosa and I stuck behind, in the slower but not slowest pace group and began to play a series of word association and 'I spy' games. Before we realised it, 10 miles had gone and we were going strong. The uphills were immense--not short little bursts, but slow, steady up, up, ups. We conquered the first three together.


In the middle of one of the nature parks, three giant adult deer leapt well across the road directly in front of us. that kind of stuff doesn't happen in London. And then somewhere between mile 14 and 15 as we were heading up yet another uphill, I made a friend, increased my pace and forged ahead.

I clearly remember running up a tiny country lane with the apple blossoms raining down, sun finally peeking through the clouds and thinking, yes, i can do this. i can run. I crossed the finish line in 3:17:24, which put me in contention to finish London in under four and a half hours. Elation! Pure elation!
despite the face, Rosa had a good run too. Thus, we spent the rest of the day passed out in the garden of a pub in Hemel grateful that the run did not to kill any of us.

London Delight!

I tend to overlook the fact that I live in one of the world's most cosmopolitan cities. And seeing as I've lived here for nearly five years now, I also tend to err on the side of arrogance like i've seen it all. I haven't, and thus I aim to rectify this negative attitude.

Don't get me wrong, I do take advantage of the myriad cultural opportunities--theatre and musical performances, weird art installations housed in quirky buildings off the Southbank, etc. I also drink a lot of coffee. But I guess you can't take pictures of that kind of stuff.

But you can take pictures of boat rides and trips to the London Zoo, two experiences that 2011 has dropped on my feet. Both experiences involved Paul, the kidney-challenged all-around lovely man-boy who, for some reason, has taken a shine to me.
For his birthday, I took Paul on a Thames Rib Boat Voyage up to the Thames Barrier and back. This involved 15-passengers, one tour guide and a boat captain with a need for cheap thrills. We hit top speeds of 60mph, zigzagging back and forth for 90 minutes all the way up to a bit of london i've never seen. It would've been amazing had I not: 1. needed to pee so badly for the best part of 75 minutes 2. had to deal with setting up a television contract with the wind whipping down my phone

So the Thames Barrier keeps the city of London from flooding and having all the bankers wash away. The process of how this works was explained to us, but I couldn't really hear/concentrate.
I just kept on imagining how the barrier resembled an alien spaceship.

It was pretty cool to see all the factories on the sides of the riverbank though; London's rise to the centre of empire and trade became clear and seeing where Sainsbury's, John Lewis, et al loads their trucks to deliver their products made the whole supply chain come to life. Yes, i know i am a loser.

Then, a few weekends later we went to.the.zoo! I didn't realise my love for the zoo until the penguins waddled their way around one pond or another. And then I was totally smitten. who needs children when you could have a penguin for a pet?
sideways:0(


and if that weren't enough, there's the giraffes! I think, not so secretly, i'm jealous of their height. But honestly, they don't look like they should be able to stand upright. All those vertebrae. woah


and i'm always impressed by the health and safety signage built up for the thousands of less than intelligent people who say things to their three-year-olds like 'okay baby, stand just a little closer, okay baby, put your hand right next to that gorilla's mouth. no baby, just a little closer, closer'.

fierce

Thames Rib Voyage. London Zoo. Four enthusiastic thumbs up.

Riga--part two

I have yet to mention how friendly, gorgeous and hospitable the Latvians we met were. Maybe it goes without saying, perhaps everyone knows this. But from people on the street to the hippies running our hostel, people went out of their way to show us what a cool place Riga was.

We sought recommendations; we got names of tea houses, indie bookshops and (well, to be fair) mediocre restaurants, though i fear this had more to do with the cuisine and being a budget traveller.

Rosa and I took those recommendations on the run and honed our technique of ten minutes of walking before ducking inside to fill ourselves to the brim with hot liquids before braving the elements yet again.

We started simply enough in the old town and wended around past the Freedom Monument and into the new town part of the city, which felt a lot like the big avenue blocks of Budapest.

in Cafe Amelie

The House of the Black Cat--according to wikitravel, this building has lore and legend attached: 'The legend has it that a disgruntled tradesman who was not accepted into the Big Guild, built this house and put the cats on it with their tails pointing towards the Big Guild, thus expressing his scorn.'

The Freedom Monument, sectioning the old town from the new and national symbol
The Opera House walking towards new town
We fettered away at least three hours in Aspara Tea House--treehouse style, cushions and beautiful views=a formula for no one ever wanting to leave


We ended our trip by drinking copious amounts of cheap wine in a cave and then acting like 19-year-olds with various 19-year-olds staying in our hostel. There was walking in the cold, followed by dancing followed by more drinking followed by a journey home to the hostel where eleven louder than ridiculous spaniards overtook our hostel room, banging and poking around at 5am. Result: i am too old for hostels.

The next morning we survived a bus ticket inspection and made it to the airport arriving back in London to, for the first time, markedly better weather. Despite this, a return to the Baltic States is immiment. But not Helsinki.