It was a moment that none of us will ever forget. When we arrived by train in Tuscany, our transfer to a local bus was far more difficult than any of us had imagined. Despite the help of online maps and a rather rigorous pre-trip research process undertaken by my sister, Lisa, we were left, bewildered, with paper tickets in hand and no idea where to go.
Where do we catch the bus, exactly? It was a question we asked many people around the station. Pulling our carry-on luggage behind us, under a hot summer sun, we tried three different spots: in front of the train station, and just beside it, where big vehicles lumbered in and out every few minutes—just none with our designated route number above the windshield.
Feeling slightly defeated, we slumped back across the piazza to the train station. And just then, it emerged, rounding the corner like a revelation. It was our bus. But our transportation wouldn’t hang around long, and it had stopped fairly far away. Jettisoning his suitcase, my 13-year-old nephew, Hunter, made a singular decision that saved the day. He sprinted toward the bus, walking through the open door and climbing the first two steps, facing off with the surly Italian driver.
Catch That Bus!
Navigating northern Italy isn’t always easy. And on this family trip, which included my sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew, we were determined to travel around the region without a rental car. It was certainly challenging, at times. But it was memorable for mostly good reasons.
Starting our trip in Rome, we proceeded north to Siena, in Tuscany, on a double-decker bus, which dropped us at the train station—setting up the ensuing drama. Next, it was a train to Florence. The ride was beautiful, winding through vineyards and villages, the scenes unfolding outside the windows straight from a postcard.
The only problem: The train didn’t take us to our destination. Slowly, we chugged to a stop at a small-town station. Everyone was told to de-board the carriage. We were so close—Florence was just a couple of stops farther down the tracks. But in a seemingly arbitrary decision, the end of the line had been changed—and we’d reached it.
We wandered around on the platform until another passenger told us that a different train would be coming through that would take us the rest of the way. When we finally arrived, it was worth the frustration.
We walked along the Arno River, the kids following a recommendation from a friend to check out two particularly delicious gelato joints at the end of the bridges. We explored inside the city’s famous cathedral and later saw Michelangelo’s David. And we dined like royalty on thick, rich, rare Florentine steaks. The bistecca alla fiorentina has long been a fixture of the cuisine here: young steer cooked “al sangre,” over embers, on the bone. Thinking back, it still makes my mouth water. (In the 1950s, a local political party even made meat a key plank of their campaign platform—they promised to deliver steak for everyone.)
Commuting in Style
First, a behind-the-scenes tour at Pagani. While for me cars are mostly a conveyance—just a way to get from point A to point B—for Hunter, this visit was a dream come true.We learned how the founder, Horacio Pagani, immigrated from Argentina to Italy, enduring some very lean times in his life that required him to sweep floors and sleep in a trailer. He worked his way up at Lamborghini, then struck out on his own. His cars are handmade with parts created in house, slow-built on the factory floor with input from their owners. They sell for at least $2 million apiece.
I knew little about the company, but Hunter? He knew all the details, even before the guide relayed them. In a showroom lined with some of the company’s best-known cars, the final one, a 2010 Zonda R, was his favorite automobile in the world. He smiled ear to ear, his gaze fixed on the shining “super car” as if trying to record every detail in his mind.
