Tuscan Sleep Deprivation Torture
September 9-20, 2021
By the end of summer 2021, we were finally ready to get on an airplane for the first time since the pandemic began. There were still problems in Europe: We originally planned on going to France during this time, but opted out when they were hit by a bad coronavirus outbreak. Friends’ kids going back to school and becoming asymptomatic disease vectors further complicated the matter, so we figured it was a good time to go drink wine in Italy instead.
Additionally, our friends Giorgia and Giovanni had told us they would host us at their family vacation home on the coast - we just had to pick a time to make it happen. The last few weeks of warm weather seemed like an ideal time to go, where we could get a little taste of beach life before tucking in for the long, cold autumn and winter in Germany.
Though it was initially exciting to see Berlin’s fancy new international airport for the first time, the process of waiting inexplicably in one room and then another, being herded like cattle, and not even having any of our vaccination or travel documents checked before boarding the plane was a sobering reminder of how unpleasant moving in and out of airports really is. We’ve missed the expedience of plane travel in the last few years, but we haven’t particularly missed dealing with airports. We flew into Pisa, as it was by far the cheapest option, took the train into Siena, and then got on a long, winding bus that drove around the entirety of the city before finally depositing us in the south end of the old town, 9-10 hours after leaving our apartment that morning in Berlin.
We had booked the trip somewhat last minute, so there weren’t a ton of options left for lodging. The place we chose was somewhere between a fancy hostel and an old-timey hotel, where we had a small room with a bathroom on the top floor. It was decorated like a cathedral, with a fresco of cherubs painted on the ceiling and, for some reason, Sphinxes peeking up from the illustrated billowing sheet along all four corners. There was a bidet; one very angry review online fumed that there WAS NO BIDET, which we didn’t initially see as such a deal-breaker. But bidets are awesome, and practical, and once we had one at our disposal, it became much easier to imagine becoming bitter and angry without it.
Just a week before we arrived, Rick Steves posted a piece online dreaming about a return to Siena:
“Stretched across a Tuscan hill, Siena offers perhaps Italy’s best medieval experience. Courtyards sport flower-decked wells, churches modestly share their art, and alleys dead-end into red-tiled rooftop panoramas. This is a city made for strolling. With its stony skyline and rustic brick lanes tumbling every which way, the town is an architectural time warp, where pedestrians rule and the present feels like the past.”
Strolling through Siena was indeed lovely, stopping to take photos down alleyways with picturesque views behind, or seeing strangers eating something tasty on the street and deciding we needed to eat some of that ourselves. There was an entire fresh porchetta inside a shop called De Miccoli, so we ordered a chunk of the roasted, seasoned pork with a small bottle of chianti and some herbed olives and enjoyed them on a barrel table out on the street. Before we finished, one of the guys who worked inside brought us out a slice of torta rustica hot from the oven, filed with pieces of melting cheese and salty cured pork. It was incredible, like the old-world prototype for the Cheddar Bay Biscuit, and we made a mental note to come back and buy more the following day.
That evening we walked to the other side of the old town to find the wine bar Salefino Bottiglieria and took a seat in the courtyard outside. Two locals at the next table over made sure to inform us right away that we had chosen the best bar in Siena. Our knowledgeable Australian bartender took us through the bar’s offerings of natural wines from the region and we ordered small plates like pork cheek sandwiches, liver terrine, and a tasty focaccia with pork, zucchini, and lemon, which reminded us of our favorite pizza at Gazzo in Berlin. As we walked back to our weird hotel through the charmingly-lit alleyways of the old town, there seemed to be an inordinate amount of people making out everywhere we looked.
Rick wasn’t wrong – Siena was a perfectly nice place to wander around and look at medieval stuff. It was easy to spend the day meandering through narrow streets and finding new vantage points to look at the old town and the Tuscan landscape surrounding it. Before dinner, we stopped by Vineria Tirabusció for some local natural wine. They had a bottle of Bianca Dritto from Cantina Ortaccio that was already open, a wine with an insane six months of skin contact. The result was a white wine that was essentially brown; sweet and nutty and slightly oxidative and very strange. We wanted to keep ordering more wine but the staff there decided to just never come back to our table and serve us again, so after 30 frustrating minutes with empty glasses we went inside and paid and left.
We managed to get a late reservation at what was supposed to be one of the best restaurants in town: La Taverna di San Giuseppe. They appear perennially in the Michelin guide, and the reviews online were stellar. Even better - it was literally next door to the place we were staying. They offer lots of dishes covered in fresh truffles, and the truffle fettuccini we ordered was definitely the highlight of the meal. Kirb ordered oso busco and Mazz got some steak with red wine sauce, and we added on a plate of roasted veggies, as nutrition comes separate in Italy. The food was...good. But for where we were, and what we paid, we honestly expected more. This experience would soon become a recurring theme.
We prefer traveling during shoulder season, but one perpetual downside of trying to get around in this time of year is that the public transportation changes to a limited schedule. There was a bus that went from Siena to our next destination, but only one, once a day. Because of covid, there’s an app for buying tickets for the bus, but it’s only in Italian. The other way to get tickets is inside of tobacco shops, but then you have to hope that the person working there understands what you’re talking about. Luckily, the woman at the hotel with the weird fresco had written exactly what we needed on a piece of paper, which was more complicated than what we could have explained, so we just had to hand it to the cigarette woman and then hand her the cash. We were the only two people on the bus, which wound through rural roads for a half an hour before dropping us off on a desolate gravel stretch that led to Pacina Winery.
Because we booked the trip so late, a lot of desirable destinations in the area were unavailable. It was often quite difficult to tell which agriturismos did or did not have vacancy based on their websites; none had interactive calendars with availabilities, and plenty didn’t even state how much it cost to stay there. We sent an email to Pacina inquiring about renting a place for a few days, and they got back to us a day or two later saying that they were available, and at a bargain of only €100 a night. Not only that, the period we were arriving was a strange lull at the property after several full weeks before and several more booked out to follow. Bizarrely, we had an entire converted farm house all to ourselves - a two-bedroom palace with a spacious open kitchen and living room, all decorated with a homey teal color scheme. On the ground floor was a billiards room, a home theater room, an indoor freshwater pool, yoga room, and a large outdoor dining area with a wood-fire pizza oven. We immediately felt like we had hit the jackpot, and wished we would have spent four days at Pacina instead of farting around in Siena for two.
Pacina is a natural winery and organic farm, and guests are free to take whatever vegetables they want from the garden. The town of Castelnuovo Berardenga is a 30-minute walk along a dirt road through the vineyards, and the grocery store there sells locally-produced meats and cheeses, which we loaded up on. There were pears, pomegranates, and zucchinis hanging off of trees and vines all along the road into town, just begging to be plucked. After a delicious lunch, we spent the afternoon sunning in the yard outside of the farmhouse, occasionally taking a dip in the chilly indoor pool before heating up again outside. There was a fig tree, and our host Maria informed us that it was presently one of the only weeks in the year in which the figs are ripe, and we were welcome to help ourselves. We did. We ate a lot of figs.
Maria also gave us a recommendation for dinner in town at a place called Ristorante Quei 2, where the locals ate. There did not seem to be a whole lot going on in this particular small town for tourism, and we figured that at this time of year we were probably the only foreigners in the entire surrounding area. In Italy, there is a first course, which is pasta, and a second course, which is meat, and there probably isn’t vegetables unless you order them separate. It is impossible to know how large these portions will be, as they differ wildly from place to place. A €12 pasta dish could easily feed two people or it could just be a few bites, it’s impossible to know beforehand. As such, we often over-ordered, and did exactly that at Ristorante Quei 2. Thankfully, the food there was reasonably priced and extremely good. Maria had even told us which kind of pasta to order: the pici noodles, which are like thick, hand-rolled spaghetti. A liter of house wine cost €5. We walked back to farmhouse beneath a sky full of stars, extremely full and buzzing, now properly appreciating the charm of Tuscany.
It was a lovely and relaxing few days at Pacina. We bought some of the farm’s incredible cold-pressed olive oil and used it to cook fresh food from their garden, washed down with their delicious wine. The only bummer was when Mazz stepped on a wasp that had decided to live in the middle of the kitchen floor, so her foot got all hurt and swollen. Somehow, something like this happens to her nearly every time we go on a trip. Stupid bugs love Mazz. Other than that, our time at Pacina was idyllic. We would happily return with friends who could help fill out the spacious farm house.
The only real - and honestly, exceptionally large - downside was the mosquitos, which isn’t necessarily Pacina’s fault, other than the fact that there were no screens on the windows. We’ve come across this problem in other parts of Europe as well, and just fundamentally don’t understand how people can stand having bugs fly into their ears all night. It’s hot, so you want the windows open, especially at night, but as soon as you open those windows, the mosquitos come in. So, you have to pick your poison: Do you want to not sleep because you’re a hot, sweaty mess, or because your blood is being feasted on and insects are constantly dive-bombing your ear drums? Even when we did keep the windows closed, there were always mosquitos still lurking inside, so then we got the worst of both situations. Window screens are a pretty simple solution to this problem, and yet they aren’t commonplace. We did not sleep well at Pacina. We did not sleep well at all. The days were lovely, but every night was a waking nightmare.
Maria drove us into town the following morning to ensure we didn’t miss the one bus back into Siena, which was much more populated heading back into the city. We caught a 9am bus to Siena, followed by a 10:40 train Campiglia with a noon transfer at Empoli, then got on a 2:10 bus outside the train station to Piombino Port. Because of covid, the busses relied solely on the honor system. We tried to buy two bus tickets at a bar, but the woman inside informed us she only had one paper ticket remaining. When the bus showed up, we told the driver that the bar was sold out, and he just replied, “Covid. Buy online.” We told him we couldn’t wait to figure it out online, we need to take this bus and the app is only in Italian. The only other people getting on, an older couple, just waved us on through the back doors. We sat down and the driver said nothing more. In Piombino Port, we figured out how to take a dumpy ferry to Elba Island, our final destination. Once there, we walked with our bags for about 30 minutes along a scary, busy highway to get to our Airbnb. We missed traveling so much, you guys.
Our abode in Elba wasn’t nearly as nice as the winery. This Airbnb was a total grandma pad with stuffy, outdated furniture and a real we only come here once or twice a year so we’re not going to try too hard to make it nice aesthetic. One of the perks of the place was that there was a cute gazebo area with lawn furniture where you could relax out back, but we were out there for about two minutes before the mosquitos forced us back indoors. Thankfully, this place didn’t get too warm inside from the sun, so we didn’t need to open windows at night and let the bugs inside. The kitchen light flickered in a way that made you feel like you were living in a meth den. Nothing was particularly comfortable. But at least there weren’t mosquitos inside, there was a closet full of beach towels, and it was on a bus line that took us directly to Biodola beach on the other side of the peninsula, where we could relax on the sand and order beachside drinks. And as we waited for the bus back into town, Kirb got to pet a Bernese Mountain Dog - one of his favorites - who was all wet and sandy and smiley from playing on the beach.
Portoferraio has a very cool old town, and it was fun walking up the big hills through the ancient streets to get a view on everything as the sun set. We promptly found a wine shop in town that sold local natural wines, but it was hard to find someplace to eat that was reasonably priced and didn’t seem like a tourist trap. We ended up choosing C’era una volta based on google reviews and were the only ones dining on an otherwise empty street, the city now desolate on an off-season weekday night. The food was fairly expensive and decidedly not great, but at least a liter of house wine only cost €10 and was surprisingly refreshing. After we ordered and ate some squid diavolo that was criminally under-seasoned, a black cat walked down the alley and urinated on the menu board, washing that item and that item alone off the black chalkboard surface. It seemed like some kind of ominous sign, but we weren’t entirely sure of what.
Busses ran infrequently in the off season, and getting a ticket relied on texting the type of ticket you wanted to buy (inter-city, inter-island, etc.) with a number specified on the bus sign. But every time we tried to buy a bus ticket we received an error message in return that the text wasn’t received, so we weren’t sure exactly how to proceed. Eventually we decided there wasn’t anything we could do but keep texting the number to nowhere and play dumb if anyone asked. No one asked. These island busses also appeared to work on the honor system, and we weren’t all that interested in going out of our way to be honorable if the system in place simply didn’t function.
We caught a bus to the other side of the island to check out the town of Porto Azzurro and there was crazy traffic at noon on a Wednesday, with lines of cars stretched all the way down what looked like rural back roads. Where were all these people going in the middle of a weekday? The bus took us high up into the hills to the town of Capoliveri, with a view of the entire island, before coming back down and depositing us at the port. We were trying to eat at a specific restaurant called Osteria Locanda Cecconi for lunch, but it was closed for no apparent reason, so we decided to just get in line at the place next door, and once we got our food it was clear why there had been a wait. The carbonara and fritto misto plates we got at Da Anto were perfect, and we were heartened to learn that there were indeed decent places to eat in the tourist zones that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. After lunch we went exploring to walk off the fried food and found that there was a path outside of town that led up the hill overlooking the coast. By the time we made our way back into Porto Azzurro we were all sweaty.
The public transit system in Elba was not particularly conducive to exploring any more towns, so for our last day we decided to go on a proper hike - properly dressed to hike - in Tuscan Archipelago National Park. At first, we were bummed to learn that the bus didn’t go there at any time that fit our schedule, but then we realized we could just walk to the park in a little over an hour. This was a great idea in theory, but we quickly learned that there were no sidewalks on the country road that led there, so we had cars buzzing past us on blind corners the entire way. We were extremely relieved to reach the Enfola peninsula and get on a proper hiking path, which took us up to the top of the hill with views of the ocean and back across Elba in all directions. As always, there was a bar by the beach that served up ice-cold Aperol Spritz, which we happily ordered as a reward for a hike well done before catching the last bus of the day back to Portferraio.
That night we were ready to splurge on what promised to be a properly excellent Italian meal. When we arrived at Osteria Pepenero there was no one seated at any of the tables, but when we asked the host if we could get a table for two he audibly laughed at as with a look that said, “You plebes needed a reservation.” He was then visibly surprised when a waiter came over and told him that there indeed was a place for us, and he made sure to let us know that we were extremely lucky. And we were lucky; his arrogance about the restaurant was not misplaced. The food there was really incredible. The pasta with penne, smoked butter, raw pink shrimp, porcini mushrooms, and truffle was the sort of dish that was somehow simultaneously subtle and unbelievably flavorful, more reminiscent of a sophisticated Japanese noodle dish than a traditional pasta with red sauce. Osteria Pepenero was significantly more expensive than other places we had dined in Tuscany, but it blew everything else we had eaten out of the water, and was the first real taste of fine dining we had experienced since the pandemic began over a year and a half before.
Finally, a meal that definitively feels like that best thing we’ve eaten since the pandemic began
Going to wine country and hanging out on a weird island are all well and good for a vacation to Italy, but the real reason we planned this trip was to hang out with our friends Giorgia and Giovanni and meet their new daughter Mathilde (as they proclaimed: “A REAL Italian baby!”). We took the dumpy ferry from Elba back to the mainland and then caught a train down to Ortobello just around the time everything was closing down for the afternoon. It would be several hours before our Italians would be able to make their way up from Rome after work, so we posted up at a table outside a bar that had internet and drank beers and spritz to kill the time. It wasn’t hard.
Our friends arrived and picked us up and immediately took us to a gorgeous beach as the sun was setting. We ordered drinks and sat in a little curtained gazebo until night fell and it was exceptionally pleasant.
Giorgia’s beach house started as a project of her dad’s in the 70s and then expanded to multiple buildings, each with cool furniture that he designed and made himself. He had been a geologist, and all of the buildings had amazing choices for stone tiles and inlayed fossil accents. Giorgia and Giovanni spent a lot of time there when the pandemic first started, and for good reason: it’s secluded, spacious, and right off the water. The two of us had our own little building to ourselves, and were very, very happy to find screens on the windows. Still, a few mosquitos had made it inside, and even after a toxic bug bomb, they survived solely to make it impossible for us to sleep. It took hours to kill the first two, but one simply would not die. Every time Kirb started to drift off, right on cue, it buzzed inside of his ear. It was true sleep deprivation torture.
The Riva del Marchese is a beach club outside of Porto Ercole where you can pay to rent loungers and have food and drinks brought out to you, and our day swimming and shlazing there was a luxurious treat. It was genuinely fun looking after Mathilde while her parents went off for a dip. That baby is extremely chill and cute and we both liked her more than just about any other baby (sorry, other babies).
After dinner, they drove us out into seemingly the middle of nowhere to a restaurant called Capanna del Circolo Sant'Irma, where there was a huge patio full of long tables and a truly massive fire inside where they were cooking multiple racks of whole chickens. We ordered way, way too much roast meat and sides - which were delicious and relatively inexpensive - then ate and drank until we were bloated and content.
It was supposed to be rainy and gross that entire weekend in Porto Ercole, but Giorgia had told us not to worry about it because, “It’s Italy,” whatever that meant. Well, we guess that means that it’s just always sunny and beautiful even when your phone tells you otherwise. They had arranged to have a family friend take us out on a sailboat for the day, and we stopped in town on the way to get a bunch of takeaway pizza and beer. There were strong winds but no rain, and after taking a pass by the caves on the coastline we attempted to shield ourselves from the gusts behind the island of L' Isolotto. We spent our last day in Italy lounging on a boat, snacking and drinking and snorkeling and feeling pretty good about where we had ended up.
With early flights the following morning, we got packed up at sunset and headed back to Rome. It was still hot, and the window in the bedroom was open with no screen, but thankfully there were no bugs in the city. Finally, we slept.