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| | | | Tuscany at my feet
From the Mail on Sunday
Culture is fine in small doses. Too much concentrated art and architecture and I start longing to escape to the countryside. So the idea of a walking tour through the Sienese hill towns of Italy seemed perfect.
Best of all, the walking would be unencumbered, with all our luggage whisked on ahead to await our arrival at each hotel. Hearty ramblers might scoff but, along with my wife Rosie and eight-year-old son Edmond, I was happy to amble gently along.
We took a flight to Bologna, then a train to Florence, where a taxi was waiting to drive us to the first night's hotel in Volterra.
Most parties spend two nights in this glorious walled city. We were pushed for time and had just one night before being driven to the start of our first day's walk - an inviting woodland path.
It was early spring and the ground was spangled with anemones, primulas, violets and cyclamen.
After two or three hours, we emerged into open country, with fresh, luminous greens and yellows, geometric cross-hatching of trained vines, silvery olives and Tuscany's quintessential punctuation marks - the dark, pencil-thin cypress trees.
Just before stopping for our picnic lunch we caught our first glimpse of that day's objective - the city of San Gimignano, whose medieval skyscrapers are familiar from filmed Forster novels and Zeffirelli's Tea With Mussolini.
Plodding up the final approach, past all the tour buses, I couldn't help but feel a certain smugness at arriving on foot.
Our room at the Hotel Bel Soggiorno was perfect, with its terracotta tiled floor and lovely view. We ate excellent food at the nearby Mandragola restaurant.
In San Gimignano every facade seems to boast some different quirky architectural detail but in the end your eye is drawn inevitably upwards to the 15 towers remaining from the original 72, erected during the height of the Guelph-Ghibelline rivalry.
Sticking firmly to my small-dose cultural policy, we limited sightseeing to a few highlights, interrupted by lunch at a delightful wine merchant's establishment on the Via della Innocenti.
Travel guide: Tuscany
This culture club is a hit for family campers
From the Mail on Sunday
The moment I heard the words I knew I had walked into a trap. We were midway through our annual negotiations over holiday destinations and the three children were determined to go to Italy.
'Are you mad?' I asked. 'Do you have any idea how far Italy is? We have to take the car, and gîtes (or whatever they call a gîte in Italy) there cost a fortune.' There was a pause, then the feared words. 'We could go camping-' It is, I suppose, the moment virtually every parent dreads. Along with divorce, moving house and bereavement there can be few worse experiences than when the children suddenly decide it's time for a camping holiday.
To them camping promises adventure, exploration and balmy nights under canvas. To the parents, it conjures up images of shared toilet blocks, seas of mud and two weeks of barely concealed squalor.
All of which, of course, is nothing new to parents. We've been there and, with the wisdom of age, have no desire to go back. It hadn't entered my head to spend a full summer holiday on a campsite since I was a teenager, when the cheapness and nomadic nature of it all seemed so appealing.
Since those days of gales in Avignon and furnace-like heat in Montpellier I had become a fully paid-up member of the Gîte Set. I've done them all, through the length of France, from Normandy in the north to Perpignan in the south, even venturing as far as the Costa Brava in Spain. All of these holidays had certain things in common: a roof over our heads, integral plumbing and electricity. And that was just fine by me.
So camping had not only not featured high on my list of holiday priorities, it hadn't featured at all. But the children were determined and promised it would be cheaper and more fun than staying in a 'boring old house'. The brochures promised luxury mobile homes if you didn't want to languish under canvas (a big yes to the mobile home from the parents and a plea for tents from the children), swimming pools, tennis courts, restaurants, bars and shops all on site.
Of course, I didn't believe a word of it. I'm not that stupid. But eventually we chose Tuscany (all that sunshine, red-roofed towns and the Blair family) with a week at two separate campsites.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Scary roads and scorpions in the bedroom
From the Mail on Sunday
When you book a self-catering property, it is often a triumph of hope over experience. A hard-bitten journalist, especially, should be sceptical. I realised this when we stalled our car on the vertiginously rising farm track deep in the heart of the Chianti countryside. The light was failing fast, our daughters, Flora, ten, and Alice, seven, were crying and frightened on the back seat and we had no idea where we were going to spend the night.
Hopelessly lost, I desperately tried to coax the hired Fiat Punto into a hill start, but admitted defeat as the car slid back. Gingerly I reversed to the bottom of the hill. Changing into first gear and slamming the accelerator to the floor, we took a wheel-juddering, stone-popping run at the brute. At its summit some Italian holidaymakers - who were trying to help us find the farmhouse where we were meant to be staying - waited patiently.
Having driven from Pisa airport that afternoon, we had successfully navigated our way to the start of the farm track leading to Borgo Navico. It was here that our troubles began. The directions said: 'Drive between two small farmhouses on to an unmade road, then follow the signs left for Navico.' Someone, however, had turned the two signs to Navico around to face the wrong direction.
Nothing in the promotional literature, moreover, had prepared us for the sheer steepness, roughness or hairpin twistiness of the unmetalled road. It rose and fell like a twisting roller coaster, curling its way precipitously through the Tuscan agricultural countryside. It also forked. Our first stab at finding the apartment took us shuddering and bucking up into a gloomy farmyard where we were promptly surrounded by snarling, leaping alsatians.
Trying a second fork, we climbed steadily until we ended up outside another farmhouse. This one, however, was shuttered and barred, although signs warned of guard dogs. We retreated once more. By now night was descending. As a last resort we enlisted the help of some young Italian holidaymakers staying in a farmhouse at the foot of the track. In convoy, we set up the track yet again. This was the point when the car stalled.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Island hopping off Tuscany
From the Daily Mail
Nothing comes close to the euphoria you feel when you first see your very own yacht, although this was not strictly ours, I suppose. Our group - myself and five youngsters - had chartered the 38-footer with three double cabins and two bathrooms or 'heads' as they are called in nautical parlance. It also had a CD player and all the latest navigational aids and was to be our home for a week.
Before I found the yacht's details on the internet, I imagined it would be a trip too expensive to even contemplate. Yet, by taking her before the main holiday season, we managed to reduce the price to less than that of an average hotel - even with the services of a skipper included.
We had paced the house trying to imagine exactly how long 38ft was, and what it would be like living with five others - plus our captain - in that amount of space. We wondered how we would fit our luggage in and if there would be any room to sit out of the midday sun, or to find a private place to sunbathe on the deck.
The questions were about to be answered. A one-and-a-half drive from Rome airport brought us to the charming little Tuscan town of Porto Ercole, stopping only at the supermarket to load up with local wine, salami and mozzarella.
We then met our captain, Scianti, at the Bar Centrale in the main street before following him to the harbour. Things were looking promising. Although only 26, Scianti - whose parents had named him after the Indian word for peace - was reassuringly capable-looking.
He was deeply tanned and appeared strong enough to coil the ropes singlehandedly, or even climb the rigging on the lookout. And then, there she was, the boat herself - the Blue Stream - with a gleaming white hull and spangly rigging. It was flying the Blue Ensign and moored among a veritable forest of sailing boats, fishing vessels and cabin cruisers at the little jetty.
It must be one of the prettiest ports in Italy, dominated on all sides by 17th-century Spanish castles. Half an hour later, having stowed everything according to the captain's instructions, we could not wait to get into our bikinis and plaster ourselves with factor 60 suntan lotion - very necessary at sea.
We then putted out of the harbour looking for wind and, soon after, Scianti hoisted the mainsail. Though there was no more than a slight breeze, he pointed the yacht, with the engine still running, towards the little island of Giglio, about two hours away.
It was the start of a perfect holiday. It was great to know that boat owners have no commitment to demanding timetables, in fact, no master at all - other than the weather.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Fabulous at Forte
Fifty years ago, Forte dei Marmi was a summer playground for the international set, the place where Edith Piaf and Charles Aznavour came to live the real-life Dolce Vita.
By the Seventies - when I visited every summer with my family - the glitterati were gone, leaving Forte to its wealthy obscurity.
Now the Tuscan resort has been rediscovered by a retro-hip crowd of fashionistas who love its mid-century architecture, beautiful beaches and chic shops.
That's why I've returned for a long weekend to find out if it's truly back in fashion - even hoping to spot a celeb or two.
Giorgio Armani bought an enormous house here several years ago, paving the way for fellow fashionistas such as Paul Smith and Miuccia Prada, who have become regular visitors (Prada's factory - and its excellent outlet - are only two hours away, south of Florence).
Avant-garde celebrities including David Bowie and Yoko Ono have also visited and photographers regularly shoot fashion spreads on the beach.
In fact, that beach is Forte's greatest draw - one of the best in Europe, with wide, pristine sands and dozens of immaculate bagni, or bathing houses. Models from those photo-shoots return here to holiday.
The beach is private so you'll pay for the privilege of sitting under an umbrella, but the amenities more than make up for it.
I'm tipped off that if I'm looking for the A-list I should try Annetta, a bagno at the end of a long, lush driveway. It's like a colonial club, filled with bamboo furniture, and has a large pool surrounded by thatched umbrellas.
The crowd's chic enough but I don't recognise anyone, so I head to the Hotel Augustus - a five-star beachfront property favoured by the famous and once a holiday home for Fiat's Agnelli family.
When I was a child, the hotel behind enormous hedges seemed exotic and out of reach; today it looks exactly the same, only less forbidding and twice as chic.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Easy Pisa!
A heady mixture of superb Renaissance cities, beautiful rolling hillsides clad with vines, medieval castles and spectacular hill towns - these are the charms of Tuscany, according to the tourist information blurb.
But how old do you have to be before those words make you salivate with anticipation - 35? 37? 62?
While all the world agrees that this Italian region is one of the finest tourist spots in Europe, all the world may not have consulted the children.
What would three siblings aged 15, 12 and nine make of all those rolling hillsides, clinging vines and medieval buildings? Since we had booked ourselves a Tuscan villa a good six miles away from the nearest spectacular hill town, we were about to find out.
Normally, the lure of a swimming pool is enough to amuse my children. But we were travelling out of season, and we'd been told the pool would not even be in use.
As we drove along the tortuous country roads towards our destination in the heart of Tuscany, I started to panic about the lack of obvious child-friendly amusements in store.
Perhaps Frances, our 15-year-old, had read my thoughts. 'You know what, Mum,' she said in all seriousness, 'this place seems pretty remote to me. We're a long way from anywhere.'
'But that's the idea,' I replied with an over-cheery smile. 'We're in the middle of all this beautiful countryside. It's so peaceful.'
She gave me a look somewhere between incomprehension and disdain. Following printed directions, we turned down a dirt track, further from civilisation than even Frances had imagined.
In every direction there were hills, like a roughly-made duvet. Birds wheeled overhead. The sun beat down, baking the hard earth and rows of ugly brown vines.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Could I cater for more in Tuscany?
From the Mail on Sunday
Tuscany, as everyone knows, is the middle-classes' Benidorm, Umbria the up-market Costa del Sol. On sunny afternoons in Spoleto or Siena, you'd be hard-pressed to spot an Italian among milling Nigels and Lucindas, guidebooks in hand, peering up at Romanesque vaulted porches or talking about dining at the Braggs's villa tonight.
It's as if all Islington has been bussed to central Italy. Still, they're not wearing Union Jack shorts or wrecking pavement cafes. And, as I'd have two small children, Betty and Bill, and an elderly father in tow (none of whom could be expected to walk far) a Tuscan farmhouse complete with pool and surrounded by some of Italy's finest architectural treasures seemed ideal.
The Casa Rosa, in the village of Palazzone on the Tuscany/Umbria border, wasn't easy to find in the twisting twilight lanes, especially as we'd dawdled too long in the beautiful square before Orvieto's splendidly ornate cathedral. And when we arrived at what we thought was the house, we were informed - in a guttural German voice - it wasn't the Casa and we were sent packing.
After another hour driving round the lanes, hopelessly lost in the dark, we found a telephone and spoke to the local representative of the tour company in pidgin Italian. The mystery was solved: the Germans had been lying. The Casa Rosa was a great big place, split into two villas with a shared pool. Either that or the Germans knew it by another name - Das Rose Haus, perhaps?
In daylight, our new home proved to be a lovely place, relaxed and palatial, with antique furniture in every room. There was just one problem: as it was self-catering accommodation, we were in dire need of supplies.
There was no soap, washing powder, matches, salt and pepper, sugar, or washing up liquid, and precious few lavatory rolls. Nor did we have any fresh food: in Orvieto on a Sunday, we'd been able to find only salmon-coloured pasta and jars of porcini mushrooms in scented olive oil. No matter, we thought, we would stock up in Montepulciano.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Breathtaking views
If you're looking for breathtaking views and sizzling hot weather then Tuscany's the place for you.
That's not all there is either, with many hot and sandy beaches it's a great place to relax.
The kids can have there fun with the many sporting pursuits including tennis, football, golf, volleyball, balls, table-tennis, surfing and miniature golf.
There are many other things you can do on this holiday and these are just some, but that's what I chose to do.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Tuscany from the comfort of a caravan
The usual image of a holiday in Tuscany is a stylish, secluded villa set in the picture-postcard scenery of the Italian hills.
But a villa is not to everyone's taste. They can be expensive and isolated, with nothing for children to do and only available in weekly packages.
So put aside your pretensions, pack your shorts and head for a caravan in the hills.
Of course you're not allowed to call them caravans but that's what they are - even if they don't have wheels.
The poshest have fully-equipped kitchens, two or more bedrooms, shower room and dinky wooden decks outside, with dining table and parasol.
The campsites are well planted with lots of trees so you aren't immediately aware of sharing your Tuscan idyll with 1,000 or more caravans and tents.
Your holiday home is billed as a "modern living space with an open air feel".
There's certainly a feeling of the outdoors - in reality, there is little privacy. You are living your holiday in a Big Brother bubble.
Walking past a row of caravans is like hospital visiting - you don't want to look at other people but can't help a sneaky peek into their personal lives.
On a holiday parc (as they are called) you can hear your neighbours chatting and eating and you see their washing on the line. But if you like people and you like the outdoors, that's not a problem and you can't help but make friends along the way.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Lucca charms in rainy Tuscany
Lucca is the perfect place for a short break - even when it's pouring. 'Dogs and cats it is raining,' said the man behind the desk at the Hotel Ilaria. 'This is how you say it in England, yes?'
Tuscany's most handsome town is clearly no stranger to inclement weather because the hotel had a large pot filled with brollies for guests' use.
By the time we reached the thick red city walls, however, the rain had passed, giving way to blue skies. The walls still circle Lucca's old centre - you can walk or cycle them along an uninterrupted path that runs for two and a half miles.
The walk becomes addictive, we did it morning and evening, rain or shine. Ten years ago, barely anyone had heard of Lucca. Now it's the big new attraction for British people looking for a second home in Chiantishire.
It's not hard to see what draws them: Lucca is everyone's dream Italian town. The walled city is packed with great bars and restaurants and wonderful shops.
After you've done the circuit of the walls, you can easily spend another couple of hours strolling the narrow streets, most of them pedestrianised.
And, unlike most Tuscan towns which cling to some hill top, Lucca is as flat as an Italian pancake. The locals usually get around on bikes, which isn't something you generally see in Italy.
Never mind a weekend, I could have happily spent a week bumbling around the town. There's much to see: a Puccini museum in the house where the composer of La Boheme and Tosca was born; San Martino, a wonderful 11th Century cathedral, and the famous Anfiteatro Romano - the square where the Roman amphitheatre once stood but which is now the Piazza Mercato.
However, I needed to satisfy a hankering to see the seaside village of Gombo. It's Tony Blair's fault we have never managed to get there. When we first visited Lucca three years ago, we set off one Sunday morning to find the seaside village - about 30 minutes' drive away - where the body of the poet Shelley was washed ashore in 1822 after his boat sank during a storm.
His body was cremated on the beach. His heart, however, wouldn't burn; this was kept wrapped in a page of Keats's poetry and given to Shelley's wife Mary (the author of Frankenstein, funnily enough).
Mary Shelley took the heart with her wherever she went after that. (I'd like to have seen the security people at Gatwick dealing with that particular piece of carry-on baggage.)
We were keen to see the Shelley monument on the beach. This is why one goes on holiday, after all, to look at monuments. But when we got to the San Rossore 'environmental park', which you have to pass through to reach Gombo, the police had closed off the access road.
Tony Blair was taking his summer holidays in a villa in the park - definitely no admission.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Lucca round you
From the Mail on Sunday
Approaching the old Tuscan city of Lucca the first thing you notice is the walls. It is impossible not to notice them. From whichever direction you are coming, this cliff of age-darkened red brick looms up before you, about 40ft tall, running unbroken for nearly three miles around the city.
The walls of Lucca took 100 years and an estimated six million bricks to build. They were completed in 1650, bristling with fortified ramparts and cannons, and were never once tested by real aggressors thereafter.
Opinions are divided as to whether this means they were a brilliant deterrent or a complete waste of money. Some Lucchesi jokingly pretend to the latter view - they have a reputation among Italians for stinginess - but in reality Lucca without its walls is unimaginable.
Originally there were just three gates. The Porta San Pietro to the south - with its snarling lions and the city's one-word motto, Libertas, carved in capitals above the arch - was, in effect, the city's front gate. All visitors had to pass through here.
The Porta Santa Maria to the north was the backgate, smaller and less formal, giving on to the old artisan quarter of Borgo Giannotti and the banks of the Serchio river beyond. The Porta San Donato looked west towards the coast of Versilia. The Mediterranean is only 15 miles away, though the city has an inland feel.
Three more traffic gates have since been added and there are some dank, twisty passages giving access by foot. Entering by one or other of these routes, you are in the historic centre of Lucca - 'Lucca dentro' as opposed to 'Lucca fuori' - which is home to about a tenth of the city's population of 100,000.
Immediately the forbidding walls take on another identity entirely. All around the top of them runs an avenue shaded by limes, ilex and plane trees. This traffic-free boulevard is both a useful way of getting about town and a perfect place for cycling, jogging, rollerblading or, above all, the people-watching stroll of the passeggiata, which can be taken at any time of the day but which is religiously observed at the hour before sunset.
It is somehow typical of this subtle-minded town that the military requirements of the past have been transformed into this splendid civic amenity. The walls are Lucca's park, with an ever-changing view of rooftops and Romanesque bell-towers within, and a skyline of wooded hills and rugged mountains beyond. Though stunningly beautiful in places, the old centre of Lucca is certainly not a picture postcard for the tourist.
It is a living, working town, with a bustle of commerce and an abundance of small, family-run food stores, hardware shops, bars and restaurants. Traffic is light within the walls, but has not - wisely in my view - been eliminated altogether. The relative tranquillity of the city has attracted Italians from all over the country. Lucca is 'vivibile' (liveable), says Claudio de Cicco, a Roman hairdresser now settled and married here.
It is not too big and not too small. But he finds it also frustratingly slow and resistant to change. 'Everything is covered with mould here,' he says. For all its Italian flair, Lucca is at heart staid and provincial: a market town. The businessmen wear smartly waxed Barbours, the local football team languishes in the lower reaches of Serie B and the burger chains that are sprouting everywhere in Italy have yet to find fertile ground here.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Jewel in the crown of Tuscany
From the Daily Mail
Oh no,' I thought. 'Not Andrew Lloyd Webber.' I was in Lucca, jewel in the crown of Tuscany and one of the loveliest towns in all Italy, when his music stole up on me like a thief in the night.
'Don't cry for me, Marge and Tina ...' The accent was excruciating, the voice like the death throes of a hyena, but there was no mistaking the composer. 'The truth is... I never left you!' It was like turning on the television in Los Angeles and seeing a close-up of Delia Smith whisking egg whites.
The hyena, it transpired, was dying on a specially erected stage beside the ducal palace, watched by a small audience of passers-by. A band played in the background. Two policemen with cigarettes in their mouths tapped their feet in time with the music. The show was part of some seasonal festivities, and if the choice of music seemed heretical in the birthplace of Puccini, it was also symptomatic of a cosmopolitan town that has shaken off some of the cobwebs of its historic past.
Not so long ago, Lucca was strictly for culture buffs. One stopped there en route from Florence to Pisa, ticked off the cathedral and the church of San Michele, and left it at that. Even its famous walls were too good to be true. They were built as fortifications during the Renaissance, but nobody bothered to attack the town so they remained intact, giving Lucca more the look of a stage set than a working community.
But you could not say the same of modern Lucca. Dying hyenas apart, it was throbbing with life. Every cafe overflowed and every street was jampacked with shoppers. There was real excitement in the air. Romeos roamed the streets like feral cats. Juliets loitered in doorways, adjusting their make-up. It was like a 24-hour party, with the whole town joining in.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Five of the best
Sunshine, beautiful scenery, splendid art treasures and a rich historical past - Italy is a charmed land, which seems to have been stuffed full of good things like some giant Christmas stocking.
All the great things in life - beauty, food, wine, opera, football, art, religion, ice cream and the pursuit of happiness - matter more in Italy.
It is no wonder that the British have been going there for more than 1,000 years, as pilgrims, adventurers, poets, on the Grand Tour and as package tourists.
But it is important to remember that Italy is a modern invention. The nation came into being only in the 1860s, and it retains strong regional differences.
This diversity - of cuisine, art, outlook, landscape - is one of the great joys of the country, making it a pleasure to visit and re-visit.
There are lots of different Italys to discover. Here are five of them.
Travel guide: Tuscany
Madonnas (with child)
When I first went to Florence as a child, the scrums in the Uffizi were so bad that I had to stand on tiptoe to see the naughty bits on Botticelli's Venus. The place was a zoo.
I was determined to give my daughter a less-stressed introduction to the jewel in the crown of Tuscany. The solution is to visit out of season. Forget summer. Forget early autumn. You will not be able to move.
The historic centre of Florence is far, far smaller than the equivalent parts of Rome or Venice, leading to complete meltdown at busy times.
What chance of appreciating Michelangelo's David when you have had to fight your way through the modern equivalent of Dante's Inferno - a sea of sweaty backpackers?
When I visited Florence with my daughter, the weather was crisp rather than sultry. We would not come home with suntans, but neither would we come home exhausted by battling coachloads of tourists.
Even at the Accademia, where Michelangelo's David can be found, we got in without queuing.
As we took in that great statue - one of those monumental works of art that no photograph can capture - our only companions were a few Japanese students and an elderly French woman with a battered guidebook.
The art treasures of Florence do not come cheap - six euros (£4) here, 10 euros (£6.90) there... and discounts for children cannot be guaranteed.
At the Uffizi gallery, I spent a futile five minutes doing a Victor Meldrew impersonation after the woman at the ticket counter refused to accept that my 12-year-old daughter was under 18 without seeing her passport.
'Pathetico!' I screamed. 'Molto pathetico!!' No good. It was like trying to get a smile out of a 14th-century Madonna.
Luckily, Botticelli was on hand to cheer me up ... and Titian, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Giotto, Fra Angelico, Piero della Francesca and hundreds more.
Travel guide: Tuscany
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| | | | The famous skyline
The main church - the Collegiata - was magnificent. Every square inch of the interior was jewelled, gilded and frescoed to within an inch of its life.
After a second night in San Gimignano it was time to put our boots back on. On this stage there is no taxi. You just check out of the hotel and walk off through the countryside.
The only slight shame was that, as we neared Colle di val d'Elsa, there was a no-man's-land of scruffy semi-suburbia to negotiate before reaching the city walls. Not just that but our rather drab hotel was in what can best be described as a light industrial zone.
Next morning a taxi took us to the tiny hamlet of Scorgiano to start the longest walking day of the tour through the Montignola forest, west of Siena.
That walk was the most beautiful of the trip and a light drizzle did nothing to diminish our enjoyment.
We stayed that evening at the Garden Hotel on the outskirts of Siena, a gorgeous contrast to the previous night's dreariness. Perched on the side of a hill, we could look across a ravine to the famous skyline about a mile away. We walked into the old town the next morning.
In its heyday, Siena was one of Europe's greatest cities. Every one of its narrow streets bursts with new delights. And the big set pieces, like the Taj Mahal, Chartres or St Mark's Square, do not disappoint.
Best of all was to see the enigmatic Equestrian Portrait of Guidoriccio da Fogliano in the Palazzo Pubblico. I had only ever known this as a little poster on my wall, so it was a revelation to see the scale and power of the original.
The most exciting discovery, though, was the Ospedale di Santa Maria della Scala. For eight centuries it was a refuge for the sick and destitute until, very recently, it became a museum.
Its wall panels are filled with scenes from the hospital's history. Painted during the 15th Century, mainly by Domenico di Bartolo, these frescos are quite astonishing and illustrate everyday city life, with bishops and dukes jostling with architects, builders, masons, doctors, wet nurses, children and students.
New galleries are being opened all the time. The latest project is an archaeological tour which takes you down and down through Siena's ancient layered history, deep into the oldest foundations.
There was only time for a quick rush round before hurrying back to the hotel for dinner. We had enjoyed a brief, intense, tantalising glimpse of the glories of Tuscany - enough to know that we would soon want to come back for more.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Inntravel (http://www.inntravel.co.uk tel: 01653 629010) offers a seven-night 'Hilltop towns of Tuscany' walking holiday with flights, transfers, accommodation, luggage transfers and maps.
*Stephen Venables' latest book, Everest, Summit Of Achievement, is published by Bloomsbury at £35.
Motoring through the mountains
Our first destination was a small town called Figline Valdarno, just south of Florence. The car was loaded on to the Motorail at Calais, which took us overnight down to Nice. It is a surprisingly gruelling drive from Nice to Florence, not helped by the fact that once you cross the border into Italy you notice something strange: there is always another car attached to your back bumper.
You will go through more tunnels on this stretch of motorway than just about anywhere else in the world. Every one of them has a name, meaning that somewhere in Italy there is a huge government department whose only job is to think up names and measure the length of tunnels.
Eventually, hot and fractious, we arrived at Camping Norcenni - and it was huge. The brochure had described it as a large site, and they weren't joking. It sprawled across the hillside, an amazing small town of tents, caravans and mobile homes. It had four swimming pools, several restaurants, bars, shops and even a nightclub. In fact, much to the jeering delight of the children, everything the brochure had promised.
It was not so much a campsite, more a resort. The children soon abandoned their familiar pose of weary cynicism and plunged into campsite life - and the swimming pools. Our mobile home did much as promised, too. It did accommodate three adults and three children, if not in palatial splendour, at least in adequate comfort. But you do have to use the outdoor table as part of your living arrangements - which is fine in summer in Italy, but maybe not so great at the same time in Normandy.
What you will get on modern campsites are facilities of a high standard, reps to help with everything (if you travel with one of the camping companies) and virtually all you'll need for your holiday. You could spend an entire holiday here without once leaving the site.
What you will not get is a great deal of space or privacy. At our first site the caravans were so close together that if someone walked around next door, it sounded as if they were joining you in your bedroom. These larger sites are a form of resort living - and you have to be prepared for that. If you are searching for the remote, the quiet and the uncluttered, don't even think of a campsite.
Hot and bothered
With the help of the Italians we eventually found Borgo Navico. We gratefully shook hands with them and retired to bed, nerves frazzled and utterly exhausted. In the middle of the night, I awoke to find my wife sitting bolt upright in bed following the crab-like progress of a large black beastie across the beamed ceiling.
After strolling to the kitchen for a glass of water, I froze momentarily in the sitting room after spotting a black scorpion clinging to a wall. I killed it with my shoe and retired. During the next two days, another scorpion was scooped from the swimming pool and my wife suffered 12 mosquito bites in one evening. Unfortunately our second-floor apartment lacked curtains or mosquito netting on the windows to keep the wildlife out.
We resolved to keep the windows shut. It was, however, desperately hot inside. The tail end of the Greek heat-wave was just sweeping through Italy and the ensuing week passed in a slick of sweat. With the temperatures stuck in the high 90s and low 100s, we were anxious to find shade and cool, especially for the children.
While there was a small terraced garden area about 50 yards away, it sported a pathetic parasol nowhere near large enough to shade a family of four and had two broken sun loungers. But swimming in the shared pool was lovely - apart from being dive-bombed by kamikaze horseflies - and the views of the surrounding rolling and sun-soaked Tuscan hills were stunning.
No amount of sunshine and pastoral peacefulness, however, could lessen the strain of having to drive 'the track'. I would hurtle up the hills and hug the brake pedal gingerly edging down the declines, praying that the tyres held and no stones shattered a windscreen.
Staying in a self-catering apartment involved trips to Castellina, five miles away, for groceries. On these journeys my daughters invariably hugged each other and prayed on the back seat. Whenever we failed to make the top of a precipitous incline and were forced to take a second run at it, I would grunt, 'Lyme Regis' - this having been my favoured summer destination.
Off the beaten track
We could sail off the beaten track as whim dictated, anchoring in coves which would otherwise remain unexplored, or we could follow the crowd into fashionable harbours for a little shopping and a long lunch.
If we liked, we could sail the boat ourselves, rely on the skipper, or a bit of both. The Giglio and Giannutri islands are tiny and sit near the Argentario peninsula. Popular with rich Romans as a holiday destination, neither is more than a few hours from the other or the haven of the mainland.
On that first day we immediately sank into the rhythm of the waves, taking turns to steer the boat while Scianti filled us in on her history. We sat back on the cushions with a glass of white wine and soda, watching rocky Giglio get closer and closer.
And what a pretty island it turned out to be, with a tiny port and sandy beaches. Once safely secured we dived in, then swum ashore through surprisingly cold currents. Meanwhile, our captain filled the little tender with towels, sunglasses and suntan lotion before rowing to join us. We felt we were experiencing the height of luxury.
After pizza and wine on the beach, we were ready to swim back to the boat. We bought fuel for the little dinghy and then took the Blue Stream to a bay on the far side of the island where we anchored by moonlight and ate inside the cabin to avoid the night chill.
Next morning, at first light, we discovered we had anchored in completely clear water just off a deserted sandy beach, and could not resist a swim before breakfast. Afterwards we decided to go ashore to check out the lay of the land and discovered a charming small hotel and a couple of shops.
Eventually, we puttered back to the boat to finish our exploration on the other side of the almost deserted island. By now our sea legs were in good enough shape to make the seven-hour trip to Elba, the island where Napoleon was imprisoned.
As we got closer the waves got choppier, although there was still no wind. The combination of heat, stillness and lack of air produced our first case of seasickness. Happily, it did not last, and as soon as we got to our harbour in Elba's Porto Azurro we were ready to go ashore for pizza and then to turn in early, as usual.
The next day we woke to the unfamiliar sound of raindrops on deck and the scream of wind in the rigging. We rejoiced in a brief respite from the heat and ate while we got wet.
We puttered out of port into a mistral, and were finally able to hoist both sails and do away with the engine. The boat keeled over at an exhilarating angle and ripped through the water. We were sailing.
Fish have 24 virtues
One reason the town's now so trendy is that it's changed so little in 50 years - local building rules even govern the colour you can paint your house (earth tones only, please).
But laws have also brought one change - many locals, piqued at having to wear crash helmets, have traded in their beloved bikes for tiny, Smartie-coloured Smart cars that zip through the narrow backstreets like overgrown mopeds.
I dawdle over a drink at the Augustus but there's still no sign of any celebrities, just a well heeled, well dressed Euro crowd.
The next day I decide to splash out on lunch at Lorenzo's, a fish restaurant famous throughout Tuscany that's a surefire place to snag a glimpse of the glitterati.
Sitting alone amid pairs of Prada-clad women, it's obvious that this is where the local ladies who lunch lunch.
But the closest I come to starspotting is the formidable matron presiding over her son and daughter-in-law, who was clearly the inspiration for Bunny McDougall in Sex And The City, right down to the oversized velvet bow in her hair.
Owner Lorenzo Viani, a dapper, whirlwind presence, is fanatical about freshness: fish has 24 virtues, he laughs, and loses one for every hour it waits to be eaten.
I devour my spectacular starter, a crisp, delicately flavoured fritto misto of paper-thin prawns and baby octopus, then follow it with barely seared tuna basted in marjoram, rosemary and other aromatic herbs.
Lunch in Italy is a ritual, and after gorging myself at Lorenzo's it's easy to remember why an afternoon siesta is essential: even the shops close to allow assistants a quick nap.
The next day I lounge away the afternoon at La Barca, another local institution: all dark woods and old photographs, it's like a beachfront gentlemen's club.
Waiters in dinner jackets bring me mineral water in bulbous, blown-glass jugs and a delicious version of the local speciality, il cacciucco, a soupy seafood stew with a sweet, peppery kick.
But the only Armani I've seen so far is other people's suits.
The grandiose appeal
My middle-aged heart skipped a beat at the sight of an old stone building at the bottom of the track. 'And this,' I said, 'is where we are staying.'
Inside our villa there was a cool, shadowy atmosphere typical of dwellings built for long Mediterranean summers. Heavy wooden doors and whitewashed walls, cold tile floors and shuttered windows were designed to keep out the sun, insects and heat.
But children, of course, aren't interested in interior design. Just outside the window, mine spotted a tennis court - and within two minutes, they had gone.
They played tennis for two hours that first day, never even glancing at the dazzling scenery around them.
And when they returned, only Frances seemed interested in venturing further afield. 'Can we go into the nearest town tomorrow,' she asked, 'to see the shops?'
Your nearest town in Tuscany is unlikely to have a branch of Top Shop, but it will have other attractions.
Whether you want the grandiose appeal of Florence, Siena or Pisa, or the discreet charms of a hill-top village, there's barely an ugly building in sight.
Siena is one of the great medieval cities of Europe, but Pisa was the biggest hit. I've never seen children so excited by a mere monument.
That leaning tower alone is worth the flight to Italy. My three wanted to run round it, climb up it, photograph themselves 'leaning' against it and return for a night visit.
They seemed to find its lack of vertical correctness hugely amusing - revelling, perhaps, in the searingly-obvious blunder of a bunch of grown-up builders.
Wonderment and despair in Montepulciano
Montepulciano is one of those breathtakingly situated medieval hill-towns that stud the Tuscan landscape, perched implausibly on towering crags. There are so many that it's not obvious why Montepulciano itself is so famous, unless the local red wine plays a part in its reputation.
Much of the beauty of such towns is that they are so perfectly preserved: no ugly suburbs wash against the lower slopes. No launderamas, video libraries or amusement arcades. No normal shops of any kind, in fact.
By the time we'd walked a mile up to the summit of Montepulciano (the Italians situate all town car parks at the bottom of extremely long and steep hills) we were in a curious state of wonderment combined with despair. Wonderment at the narrow cobbled lanes, the wrought-iron balconies and peeling plaster, the panoramic views of the countryside far below that flickered between the dark houses.
Despair that there was no soap, no washing up liquid, no lavatory rolls, no fresh food. Only gift shops and delicatessens selling 27 different varieties of sun-dried tomato. Perhaps it was early closing day for the real shops, we comforted ourselves, ever so slightly unconvincingly.
The next day we headed north to San Gimignano, a stunning city of ancient skyscrapers. It's a medieval Manhattan. To walk its streets is to travel back 900 years, always assuming that 900 years ago nobody washed or ate meat. We did at least find a precious lettuce and a green pepper among the olive-wood chopping boards and ten-inch-square herbal scented candles.
From the summits of San Gimignano's towers one can look out across a Tuscan countryside so perfect it looks as if it has been created by a landscape gardener. Geometric fields of ochre and pale green form elegant patterns on sunlit rolling hills. Dark poplars are the verticals. Everywhere there are terracotta-coloured farmhouses, cracked old outbuildings, little churches alongside sudden fields of bright yellow sunflowers.
But, for God's sake, is there anywhere to buy a lamb chop? Does anyone even know the Italian for 'lamb chop'?
Stop being a snob
This really is a holiday for families, especially those with small children, known as toddler families.
But with families comes equipment. Most sites have buggies, cots and high chairs. Some take the children off your hands while you unpack.
And there are kids' clubs split into different age groups and pools suitable for small children, although you have to wear horrible swimming hats.
Holiday parcs have got wise that visitors need more than a caravan and running water.
They have swimming pools, a gym and spa, a good restaurant - reasonably priced - a pizzeria and, importantly, a takeaway and a supermarket which isn't a rip-off.
Sites are busy and crowded but have a welcome siesta when no cars are allowed to move and shops are shut. It also gets very quiet after 10.30pm.
You can do this holiday flying but it's much easier to drive, especially if you have children's stuff. You'll also need to take your own towels.
You will need a car for sightseeing. The Norcenni Girasole Club is set in Chianti country and good for visiting Pisa, Florence, Rome and Siena.
Within an hour's drive is San Gimignano - a stunning hillside town which has a medieval festival in June.
You can arrive any day so you're not tied to Saturday-to-Saturday holidays. And you can stop off at camps along the route to break up the long car journey.
So this is a flexible, outdoor holiday which will delight your kids and do away with any pretensions or snobbery you may be harbouring.
A three-night stay at the Norcenni Girasole Club with Eurocamp is from £67 by car. Details 0870 366 7552.
Pathetic tourist attraction
When I was back in Lucca last year, I drove down to the coast looking for the San Rossore park but, having forgotten my map, I couldn't even find the way in. Two-nil to Gombo. This time, I had the map and Tony Blair was safely ensconced in Downing Street. Nothing would stop us.
But on entering the park, we found our way to Gombo blocked once more. 'The park is open only on Sundays,' said the man at the barrier. Three-nil and game over - I fear that Shelley's monument will remain unvisited, by me at least.
I had other places on the visiting list, however. Collodi, a village 10 miles east from Lucca, has one significant claim to fame. A journalist called Carlo Lorenzini used to come here as a child - it was where his mother was born.
In his 50s, he began writing children's stories. In 1881 he sent a story about the life of a wooden puppet to his friend who edited a newspaper in Rome. Would he be interested, he wondered, in publishing this 'bit of foolishness'?
The story was Pinocchio and it was an immediate success. The author chose, as his pen name, the name of his mother's village: Collodi.
Tuscan-born actor Roberto Benigni, who won an Oscar for Life Is Beautiful, has just made a film of the Pinocchio story - the most expensive film in Italian history.
It is a local box office success, but the critics panned it. They were lucky they only saw the film - they should see the theme park. The local council in Collodi cashed in on the literary connection by building a Pinocchio theme park in the village.
Sadly, I have to report that it is possibly the world's most pathetic tourist attraction. It's hard to imagine how they justify an entrance fee of £4.50 - beyond a mosaic and a couple of wimpy statues, there is nothing to see.
'Did it rain any dogs or cats?' asked the man at the hotel desk when we returned. 'I did step in a poodle,' I said.
Well, I thought it was funny.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Inntravel offers breaks in Lucca. For details call 01653 629 010 or visit http://www.inntravel.co.uk
Medieval alleyways
The medieval parts of the city are a network of secretive alleyways and disregarded dead-end courtyards where cats glare at you from broken archways. Elsewhere, the style is more Napoleonic: handsome faded piazzas, pollarded plane trees, graffiti-scrawled statues.
But these are later layers in Lucca's history. The centre of the city is Roman. Having first been settled by Ligurians (who gave it its name, from the Ligurian word luc, meaning a marsh) and then by Etruscans, it became a Roman stronghold in the third century BC.
And it flourished as a trading centre at the junction of three major roads - the Via Aurelia, the Via Cassia and the Via Clodia. In 56BC it was the site of the meeting between Caesar, Pompey and Crassus, which resulted in the power-merger of the First Triumvirate.
Roman Lucca was already a walled town - the present walls are the latest and largest of three distinct enclosures. Remains of the Roman walls can be seen in the church of Santa Maria della Rosa near the cathedral. There was an amphitheatre, just outside the city walls, and thermal baths at Massaciuccoli to the west.
The forum of the Roman city is now Piazza San Michele, the church of which, built in the 12th century, is still called San Michele in Foro. The piazza remains the heart of the city: a meeting place, a haunt for street performers (including a Geordie ballet-dancer, Stephen Ward, who regularly performs here) and, from time to time, a market. It is dominated by the marvellous marble facade of the church, whose colours change in every light.
If you stand in the right place in the piazza you can see the jewel sparkle on St Michael's wrist, 200ft above you on the top of the church. A small knot of squinting tourists usually marks the spot. From here it is a short walk to the city's main shopping street, Via Fillungo, a narrow but elegant thoroughfare with sunlight angling down on to mauvish stonework.
If the hour is right and you have no pressing duties ahead, you might try the delicious but deadly aperativo della casa mixed by the Neapolitan barman at the Caffe Fillungo. If not, you can take a coffee at Di Simo, a favourite haunt of the Lucca-born composer Giacomo Puccini.
Walking north up Fillungo you come upon the ancient curves of the Roman amphitheatre. Revamped in the 18th century, it is now a graceful circular piazza enclosed by houses, and is the perfect venue for al fresco jazz on a summer's evening.
The golden age of Lucca was in the early medieval period, when competing families of merchants built their stout palazzi and flung up the famous towers which made Lucca seem like 'a forest of towers'. Most of these have since crumbled, though there remain the Torre dell'Ore - the medieval town clock which stopped long ago but will soon, it is promised, be started again - and the Torre Guinigi.
The latter is probably the city's most famous monument. Its slender silhouette, with its characteristic topknot of evergreen ilex trees, can be glimpsed from all over the city. Lucca's prosperity was largely built on its textiles, particularly silk.
Cycling around the city
Our presence in Lucca was pure fluke. We were staying in the area with some friends from Australia. They didn't want to come to England, it was too far, and we didn't fancy the long haul to Australia; so we met in the middle - well, almost. But as so often happens, a chance excursion proved more fun than the most meticulously planned holiday.
As the centre of Lucca is flat and mainly car-free, we hired bicycles, saved on the shoe-leather and had a fine old time. Only one word of warning to anybody thinking of doing the same: there is a black-and-white mongrel who seems to regard the Via Guinigi as his personal fiefdom. Avoid him. His bark is worse than his bite, but he speaks no English and appears to be provoked by red socks.
Cycling around the city ramparts, nearly three miles in all, was a charming experience. An unbroken promenade, lined with trees, ran along the top of the walls. In the distance, plump little mountains glowed in the afternoon sun. Within the ramparts, red-tiled roofs were punctuated by elegant archways and campaniles.
It all seemed such a peaceful, orderly world, with the streets laid out to a grid plan and the cobbles immaculately maintained. But it was also brimming over with life and character. At the top of one of the towers, as if put there by a practical joker, two miniature oak trees poked their heads cheekily above the parapet.
Every square, every alley, offered fresh surprises. Sometimes it would be something little, local, intimate: chestnuts roasting on open braziers; priests scuttling out of bars; tiny shops stuffed with cheeses, herbs and fresh pasta.
At other times, it was something quite majestic. The Piazza Napoleone, with its effortless, tree-lined elegance, belonged in a much larger city. The Romanesque facade of the church of San Michele seemed to soar into the sky, column upon column, gargoyle upon gargoyle.
The most extraordinary sight of all was the Roman amphitheatre. Its ancient origins are lost in the mists of time: it is just a circular piazza, ringed by medieval houses. But the symmetry of the design, and the bustling street market that now occupies centre stage, were irresistible to the eye.
Tuscany - heart of Italy
TUSCANY
WHY GO? Tuscany is the heart of Italy - or, at least, the heart of the British idea of Italy.
It is the birthplace of Dante, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the whole Italian Renaissance. Throughout the 15th century, its various city states vied with each other to produce ever more wonderful works of art and architecture - and many of them are still there.
The region has achieved such a pitch of civilisation that even the landscape seems civilised, with its low, rolling hills of well-tended vines and olive trees, plumed with dark cypresses and crowned by the occasional medieval walled hill-town.
There are excellent wines from Chianti and Montalcino and food to rival London's River Cafe in even the humblest trattoria.
MUST-SEES: Florence is the ultimate city of art, home to - among other masterpieces - Michelangelo's David and Botticelli's Birth of Venus. The town centre is like a glorious open-air museum.
Siena is an almost unspoilt medieval city; its famous medieval horse race, the Palio, is run round the main square twice a year on July 2 and August 16.
Visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa and the not-so-leaning-towers of San Gimignano. When 'cathedralled out', head for the hills or to stylish coastal resorts such as Porto Ercole and Porto Santo Stefano.
DRAWBACKS: The danger of bumping into Tony Blair and family. Long queues to get into the churches and art galleries in Florence. The possibility of finding key sites shut due to restoration.
TOP HOTEL: Hotel Villa San Michele, Fiesole, the height of luxury, on the hill outside Florence. The building used to be a monastery in the 14th century, but there is nothing austere about it now.
The elegant loggia is supposed to have been designed by Michelangelo. See http://www.orient-expresshotels.com or tel 0207 805 5100.
RESTAURANT: Dorando, Vicolo del Oro 2, San Gimignano (0577 941 862). Its expensive dishes include historical re-creations such as Catherine de Medici's favourite, chicken-liver pate and pici - a type of handmade spaghetti that comes with mint pesto.
GETTING THERE: Fly to Florence or Pisa. Ryanair flies from Stansted airport, near London, to Pisa from about £100 return. See http://www.ryanair.com or tel: 0870 156 9569.
TOUR OPERATORS: Italian Chapters, specialists in Tuscan villa rentals. See http://www.villa-rentals.com or tel: 0207 722 0722.
Lift the spirits
You would have very dull offspring if you were unable to inspire them with the excitement of the Renaissance when that excitement is all around in the churches, the piazzas, art galleries, and in the weather-beaten old buildings.
The Duomo, the great red-tiled dome of the cathedral, which dominates the city, would lift the spirits of the surliest teenager.
It was one of the architectural wonders of the world when Brunelleschi built it in the 15th century, and it has lost little of its power to impress.
We climbed to the top of the neighbouring Campanile and had a grandstand view.
We took the Uffizi at a canter, lingered in the church of Santa Croce, where Michelangelo and Galileo are buried, and dawdled in the cloisters of the San Lorenzo.
We spent one of our happiest half-hours perched on a fountain in the Boboli gardens on the other side of the Arno. A wintry sun smiled down on the Duomo. Birds circled above the river.
It was midday and, as the church bells started to ring out across the city, dozens of them, drowning out all noise of traffic, you got a sense of the Florence of the Renaissance, a great city in its pomp.
The Florence of today is a backwater in comparison. In terms of nightlife, opera etc, it lags way behind Rome and Milan. But after gorging yourself on culture, you need not settle for a pizza and an early night.
We ate well. A chargrilled bistecca fiorentina, 1.2kg of prime meat, shared by two, was as impressive as some of the Renaissance art.
Lively, laughter-filled restaurants abounded and, after dinner, there was always that quintessential Italian treat - a to-die-for gelato.
Street markets, selling everything from parmesan cheese to leather gloves, were another treat.
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| | | | The swimming pool or Siena?
But you do get used to the life remarkably quickly and, yes, the sites can be great bases for touring the area. And Tuscany is beautiful. Leaving aside the fact that some of the world's most famous towns were within easy distance of our campsite - Florence, Siena, Pisa - the countryside alone is spectacular, with medieval towns balanced on hilltops, bustling markets and peaceful villages.
We caught the train from Figline Valdarno for the 40-minute journey into Florence, where we wandered among the streets and gazed in awe at the simply stunning number of tourists the place attracts. Undoubtedly, there are real people who live real lives in and around Florence, probably Italians - but we didn't see them. What we saw were large crowds shuffling around clutching guide books.
Clutching ours, we headed for the Ponte Vecchio and then for the Uffizi Gallery. The queue was vast. The children's faces fell. It was a straight choice: culture or campsite. The train whipped us back to Figline in no time and soon the children were submerged in the pool, which is where they had wanted to be all along.
Undaunted, the next day we drove to the medieval town of Siena (which although only about 50 miles distant is a two-vomit journey for young children, so twisting and undulating are the roads). In this part of Tuscany where the towns have names like Greve in Chianti, Strada in Chianti and Castellina in Chianti, there are no prizes for guessing the local wine. The beauty of Siena impressed the adults and left our children remarkably unmoved.
By the end of our first week I was almost sad that we would have to leave the site. We were moving on. Our second site on the Tuscan coast at Cecina was much smaller, quieter and closer to the beach. There was more privacy and more room between the mobile homes, but the children rather missed the excitement of the larger camp.
It was here that I discovered the other great delight of a campsite compared with the gîtes: if we had a problem of any kind we just asked our reps to sort it out. I didn't lift a finger. When a disturbing number of wasps started collecting above one of the windows of our mobile home, I happily sat back sipping beer while our three female reps hopped around exterminating them. (I would have helped, you understand, but they seemed to know what they were doing.) After a fortnight you can see why so many families think only of camping for their summer holidays.
But some things almost never change - you must go equipped with good humour, tolerance towards your neighbours and, above all, there's the unrelenting sunshine. So it's always going to be a challenge-
Taking solace in the scenery
By the end of the week my wife's nerves were in tatters and she insisted on moving out. I rang the locally based managing agent. Fortunately, there had been a cancellation and an apartment near Radda was vacant.
The second week was spent recovering in Casa Losi. This was a huge improvement - an historic house in a hamlet on a metalled road overlooking, but not overwhelmed by, Tuscan nature red in tooth and claw. We took refuge from the heat either in the partly subterranean apartment or under canopies and trees in the garden.
We had already paid £560 rent for the first week and £510 for the second in the Borgo Navico apartment. We then paid £350 towards the cost of renting the apartment in Casa Losi. But the holiday was not an entire write off. The food was wonderful, the ice cream incomparable and the scenery breathtaking.
Could the first hellish week have been avoided? I had found the property through a small ad and the faxed particulars of the Navico apartment described 'that road' as being unsuitable for low vehicles. I had asked the agent what this meant. He said it was unsuitable for sports cars. Would a Fiat Punto be suitable? I asked. Yes, he said. The next time I book a holiday, alarm bells will ring at any sight of the weasly words 'not suitable for low vehicles'.
You cannot, however, protect yourself from all eventualities. We booked our flights over the phone with Ryanair. Unfortunately, the company's computers went down and, instead of debiting our bank account by £1,081.20, the company took two additional payments of £1,117.20. Several faxes, phone calls and six days later £2,234.40 was returned to our account. Ryanair also gave us a £249 refund.
Ah well, on the return flight the co-pilot invited me into the cockpit and the cabin crew were charming. We were also several hundred miles away from the dreaded unmade track. Lyme Regis, I think, next year.
Navigating the Mediterranean
So that was it, after all the evenings learning nautical terms in both English and Italian, watching Scianti coiling the ropes and putting out the fenders - and sometimes helping him - we were en route with no mechanical help, navigating the beautiful Mediterranean as others have done for thousands of years.
We sailed until the waning light turned into a spectacular pink sunset reflected on the waves, and then moored in the huge natural bay of Il Fornaio. It was by a nature reserve on the mainland, about 40 miles from our destination.
On our final day we spotted fashion designer Valentino sunbathing on his huge streamlined air-conditioned yacht, TM Blue. He keeps it in a local harbour with a crew of 25 sailors, who, rumour has it, are required to change uniform five times a day.
Compared to the Blue Stream it was like the QEII. We vowed to be back - guess which boat we're saving for.
Travel facts: Blue Stream can be rented from Sail-Italy, phone number 01223 700801, or at website http://www.sail-italy.com.
Craving for late-night shopping
On to La Capannina, a Eurochic beach bar where the Negroni cocktail was invented. There are plenty of Italian footballers but no fashionistas; perhaps I'll have more luck at Twiga, one of the few new bars.
Decorated like an Arabian fantasy and signposted (for some reason) by a giraffe's head, it was masterminded by Naomi Campbell's playboy ex, Flavio Briatore - word is he's planning to open a hip, Ian Schrager-style hotel at the town's northern end.
In the end, though, having decided that Armani was more likely to hang out somewhere classic and understated, I spend the evening at Bar Principe in the centre of town.
Of course, it looks exactly the same as it did when I was a child, down to the elegantly tattered chairs and starched tablecloths.
Sipping a black coffee, I settle back to watch the evening passeggiata, a ritual stroll every Italian enjoys after a day at the beach.
But after several hours' fruitless sipping, I succumb to my craving for late-night shopping at the boutiques close by.
The number of designer outlets here has mushroomed: Gucci opened a gleaming megastore recently, and a few streets away you'll find Versace, Boss and Prada among others.
Locals grumble that the en masse arrival of such names is pushing out artisans who once produced shoes and bags by hand, although you can still find a few streetside cobblers.
I settle for the next best thing to a sighting of Miuccia Prada - a pair of shoes she designed (despite a twinge of conscience about local artisans).
I wear them on my last morning's final attempt to spot the famous: lunch at the Bambaissa Beach Club.
There's a decadent buffet spread out in the sun that you can enjoy before ambling back to your umbrella for a snooze in the shade.
Unfortunately, the sun's as elusive as the stars so I take a walk along the front and down the slender pier.
Looking back at the town, with its manicured beach huts, rows of expensive cars and elegant locals, I relax: even if I didn't see Prada, Paul Smith or Armani, it's clearly fabulous at Forte again.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Citalia (http://www.citalia.com tel: 020 8686 5533) features holidays to the Hotel Augustus in Forte dei Marmi. There are cheaper packages to other hotels in the area.
Ryanair (http://www.ryanair.com) flies to Pisa from Stansted.
Colourful ice-creams
However, by Day Three, Joe had had enough of picturesque towns. ('That's all there is to do round here,' he moaned.) So we resorted to an unsubtle form of bribery: 'In San Gimignano you can buy the best ice cream in Italy - shall we go?'
San Gimignano is known as 'the Manhattan of Italy' on account of its 14 high-rise towers (medieval, of course.)
However, Joe was not there for the architecture. He fairly skipped through those cobbled streets, speeding past ancient churches and pretty courtyards on his way to the promised freezer cabinet.
It was market day in 'San Gim' (reputedly the most visited village in Tuscany), and crowds swarmed like fat flies around the main squares. Old men sat in the shade on plastic chairs, watching the world go by.
Outside the Gelateria di Piazza, we lingered at a selection of ice creams as colourful as an artist's palette. Should we have dark or milk chocolate, champagne-and-grapefruit or panna cotta?
A queue started to form in our wake. We could see why this tiny shop had garnered five 'Best Ice Cream In Italy' awards.
Pam Massey, the Tuscan-based Crystal agent, had warned me that the Italians weren't very 'set up' for children as regards playgrounds, changing facilities or theme parks.
She pointed me to a distant water park and the inevitable Pinocchio Park at Collodi, but, in the event, we did not need these distractions.
As she said: 'The thing Italians are very good at is welcoming children into their restaurants - children stay up late at night here. And they do love children in Tuscany.'
Strangely enough, I think the children loved Tuscany right back.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Crystal Italy. Tel 0870 888 0233 or http://www.crystalitaly.co.uk
Supermarket saviour
And so the week went on, fortified - it must be said - by sumptuous restaurant meals on our lunchtime visits to towns, and cleansed by repeated dips in our splendid hilltop swimming pool.
We headed east into the wooded slopes of Umbria, to elegant Spoleto with its remarkable old viaduct, to vertiginous Cortona and to Assisi, with its fountains and the spellbinding frescoed vault which contains the bones of St Francis.
A thunderstorm chased us west to the Monastery of Monte Oliveto Maggiore, where the monks make their own honey, grappa and herbal remedies for every ailment under the sun (sadly, they don't do their own sausages, too).
And then, travelling along a B-road, we saw our Holy Grail. At first just a glimpse of stained concrete then, around the corner, there it was, in its full box-shaped majesty: strip lighting, aluminium window frames, asphalt car park and cheap plastic sign. A super-market. We rushed in and piled the trolley high, Persil, Andrex, Lux, Aquafresh, Domestos.
There were vegetables: potatoes, tomatoes, onions, aubergines. And best of all, meat -chicken, beef, lamb, veal, bacon, sausages, hamburgers. Our eyes swam with visions of barbecues, pot roasts, grills and fry-ups. No more polenta with pickled garlic and preserved artichokes! We filled our car boot, rushed home and stuffed our fridge.
It must have been about midnight that the lights went out. The electricity supply in rural Italy is erratic at the best of times. Having bought a few polenta-flavoured candles, we managed to find our way to bed. But next day, as the temperature again climbed into the 80s, the depths of our dilemma struck us.
No electricity plus a fridge full of food plus extreme heat equals disaster. We had lost the lot. I'm sure life isn't as complicated in rural Bolivia, or in the remote vastness of Easter Island.
Still, having said that, I'd definitely go to Tuscany again, to such a lovely house, in such a gorgeous landscape. Only next time, there'll be a detour to Tesco on the way out to Heathrow.
Travel facts: Vacanze in Italia has a range of self-catering properties in Tuscany and Umbria. Tel. 08700 772772
Celebrating Santa Zita
Another early industry was papermaking: both these products benefited from the comparatively wet climate here. Local silk production died long ago, but the city is still a centre for clothes manufacture and has a disproportionate number of shops selling intima moda, or fancy underwear.
Nowadays, you are told, Lucca has just two specialities: lingerie and olive oil. I believe the correct reply to this observation is: 'What more do you need?' Like most Italian cities, Lucca has some home-grown festivals to add to the already crowded calendar of Roman Catholic high days and holidays.
On April 27 the city is adorned with flowers in celebration of Santa Zita's day. She is Lucca's favourite saint: her body can be seen in a glass case in the church of San Frediano, somewhat shrunken and leathery, but looking pretty good considering she is more than 700 years old.
Zita was a country girl, born in the hills above Monsagrati. She worked in Lucca as a maid for the rich Fatinelli family, and fed the beggars with bread from the kitchen, against the will of her miserly master. The key part of her story concerns a miraculous transformation of bread crusts into flowers and Santa Zita's day is essentially a spring flower festival.
At the other end of the summer, on September 13, comes the night of the Luminaria when the centre of the city is entirely candlelit. Thousands of little nightlights are ranged along every available surface. The procession, with its floral crosses and its swaying statues, winds from San Frediano to the cathedral. It takes hours to pass: it is like a river that cannot be crossed.
Later there are fireworks, viewed from the walls, and then the crowd disperses - Lucca is not a late-night city - and you walk back through quiet streets faintly luminous with fallen candlewax.
The English have a long connection with Lucca. Pilgrims were visiting the mysterious wooden statue called the Volto Santo (Holy Face) in the 11th century. There is a Signor Lucchese in Shakespeare's Othello. Both Byron and Shelley passed through, and stayed at the nearby spa town of Bagni di Lucca, where there is a small and atmospheric English cemetery still extant.
Mary Shelley's historical romance Valperga, published in 1823, is largely set in Lucca. It is generally said that the Lucchesi are more reserved and introspective than most Italians - that they are chiusi, or closed, like the city itself - and this is why the English like it here.
A 17th century merchant, Francis Mortoft, noted that the Lucchesi 'in their customs are nearest to the English of any'. Others praised the city for its political independence, its clean streets and its excellent music. Today there is a sizeable scattering of English residents in the area, though this is decidedly not 'Chiantishire', which is a different landscape in a different part of Tuscany.
There is a thriving English language magazine, Grapevine, (or Gravepine, as it was recently spelt in a local daily paper). It has been running for nearly five years and sells around 5,000 copies a month. Its editor Susan Jarman came to Lucca in 1979 on a nine-month contract to teach English and never left. The English community was extremely close-knit then. 'You could invite all the English over and you'd have a party of about 20 people,' she says.
A night at the opera
After a slap-up lunch of pork and gnocchi, washed down by a couple of bottles of Chianti, we staggered back onto our bicycles and made our pilgrimage to Puccini's birthplace. It was not a big place: just a suite of rooms on the second floor of a small townhouse.
But it did not need La Boheme throbbing in the background to pluck at the heart-strings. Among a wealth of interesting exhibits were the handwritten notes the composer had scrawled as an old man, when he was dying of throat cancer and unable to speak.
The effects of Lloyd Webber which had marred our arrival in Lucca were beginning to wear off. It only needed one final antidote - a night at the opera. We returned our bicycles and, for just £25 a head, got seats in the front row of the stalls for Lucia Di Lammermoor. What would we have had to pay at Covent Garden? Five or even ten times as much?
Italian provincial opera houses not only offer unrivalled value for money, but unrivalled theatricality. The sopranos sing their hearts out. The tenors could not act if you paid them, but do look gorgeous in tights. The baritones crash about the stage like indignant mafiosi.
We laughed, cried, and emerged dizzy with music to find Lucca was waiting for us. At ten to midnight, in sub-zero temperatures, every man, woman and child in the town seemed to be out on the streets, laughing, chatting, window-shopping. It was like a party nobody wanted to leave.
In a few short hours, a town I had once thought stuffy, even twee, had shot to the top of my list of venues for enjoying la dolce vita.
Travel facts: Short breaks in Lucca can be arranged through The Italian Connection (020 7520 0470). Opera tickets, cycle hire, guided tours and excursions can also be pre-booked.
The Italian Lakes - sublime grandeur
THE ITALIAN LAKES
WHY GO? Magnificent scenery, mountain air, sheltered climate and lush vegetation.
Lakes Garda, Como, Maggiore and Orta all offer a taste of that sublime grandeur which has been an enduring inspiration to Romantic poets, Italian opera composers, German philosophers and British holidaymakers for nigh on 200 years.
You can still conjure up the sense of a more leisured age, zig-zagging across the lakes in a little steamer from one charming village to another, visiting historic villas and wandering around their ornate gardens.
Or you can set off on a more active round of sailing, water-skiing, hiking and even golf (the long British association has ensured that there are several golf clubs in the area).
MUST-SEES: The Isole Borromee - the collection of little islands on Lake Maggiore, including Isola Bella with its sumptuous baroque gardens, Isola Madre and the unspoilt Isola dei Pescatori.
Orta San Giulio, the charming main village on Lake Orta - the so-called 'Cinderella' of the Italian lakes. The beautifully-sited little town of Bellagio on Lake Como and the terraced gardens of the 18th-century Villa Carlotta at Tremezzo.
Il Vittoriale, poet Gabriele D'Annunzio's splendidly extravagant villa on the shores of Lake Garda, and the old Roman spa town of Sirmione.
DRAWBACKS: Thronged with people at the height of the season. Summer hazes can obliterate the spectacular views.
TOP HOTEL: The Grand Hotel Villa d'Este on Lake Como. The pinnacle of luxury and style; built in 1557 as a country residence for a wealthy cardinal, it has been a hotel since 1873, becoming the favoured resort of crowned heads, Hollywood film stars and the hard-working rich.
RESTAURANT: Olina, the restaurant attached to the Hotel Olina, via Olina 40 near the centre of Orta San Giulio, offers excellent local dishes, home-made pasta and fish from the lake, at moderate prices.
GETTING THERE: Fly to Milan or Verona with numerous airlines. BMI flies from London Heathrow to Milan Linate airport from about £135 return. Tel 0870 607 0555.
TOUR OPERATORS: The Individual Travellers Company, Vacanze in Italia brochure. See http://www.indiv-travellers.com or tel: 01798 869014.
Frescoes and ice creams
Florence has never let itself be a mere heritage city. It is an amiable, lived-in place where people will flash you a friendly smile.
If we had visited in August, my daughter might have been crushed to death in the stampede to get a peep at the David. She would certainly have ended up hot and frazzled.
As it was, she escaped with a flesh-wound and got a taste of Florence without surfeiting on High Culture.
Somewhere in the blur of frescoes and ice creams, old buildings and modern bustle, she got a glimpse of what all the excitement was about.
If she did not fall head over heels in love with Botticelli, she succumbed, like millions before to her, to the charms of la dolce vita.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Italian Journeys (tel: 020 7370 6002) has stays at the four-star Bernini Palace Hotel, in the city centre.
Tips:
- Avoid visiting when the city will be very crowded.
- Do must-see sights (the Duomo, the Uffizi, Michelangelo's David) first, then assess how much more Renaissance culture your child can take.
- Get the best view of the city by climbing to the top of the Duomo (463 steps) or the Campanile (414).
- Do your homework. It is often the stories behind the famous works of art that interest a child.
- Spend time across the Arno, on the other side to the city centre. It is less crowded and has the best views of the Duomo.
- Make sure you include Florentine food in your itinerary. The ever-popular il Latini on Via del Palchetti is a splendidly atmospheric local restaurant.
- Make a date with Italian ice cream. Vivoli, on Via Isola delle Stinche, is one of the most celebrated gelaterias in Italy.
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| | | | Fine rustic fare
For resident and visitor alike the city is an excellent base. The coastal resort of Viareggio, with its famous carnival, is half an hour away; Florence is less than an hour up the autostrada; the mountains and ski resorts of the Garfagnana are within easy reach.
This location is good news for gastronomes: there is plenty of fresh fish on the menu, but also plenty of more gamey, rustic fare such as wild boar, rabbit, porcini mushrooms and polenta.
Lucca has been called 'the best kept secret in Tuscany'. It is no longer a secret but it is still, for most, a brief side-trip between Pisa and Florence. It has no single famous sight like the Leaning Tower and - apart from a Filippino Lippi in San Michele and an overrated Tintoretto in the cathedral - no great works by famous Renaissance painters. It is just itself.
Many of its masterpieces are by unknown hands. Who was the Maestro Roberto who sculpted part of the beautiful font in San Frediano, or the Maestro Biduino whose tiny intricate carvings stand above the doors of San Salvatore, huddled in beside the Misericordia ambulance station?
It is a city of ancient doodles, hieroglyphs and inscriptions. In search of one such inscription, by a 12th century priest named Enrico, I visited the small and aged church of Sant'Anastasio. Sadly the inscription has almost disappeared, but it was a pleasant moment on a misty evening, standing in the nook-sized piazza in front of the church, listening to two violins from an upstairs window of the music school.
A shadowy little lane runs down one side of the church: it is called Vicolo della Felicita, 'Happiness Alley'. The kind of happiness once offered here was probably not of the most wholesome kind, but the name seemed appropriate.
Lucca is a city where you can feel a certain quiet but infectious happiness in the air. Together with the lingerie and the olive oil this makes a pretty formidable combination.
Sorrento and the Amalfi coast
SORRENTO AND THE AMALFI COAST
WHY GO? One of the most beautiful and dramatic stretches of coastline in the Mediterranean; a bristling fringe of craggy headlands swooping down to a sparkling blue sea.
The winding road that follows the coastline presents a succession of staggering views. The area was included on UNESCO's World Heritage List in 1997.
Small beaches and fishing villages cluster at the water's edge. Lemon groves soften the slopes of the hills.
The pizzas are made with fresh local mozzarella, and the fish is straight from the sea.
MUST-SEES: The historic town of Amalfi, with its beautiful Romanesque cloister and on the cliff above, the historic town of Ravello, with its palatial villas and gardens.
The bustling resort town of Sorrento. Positano, the little fishing village that has become a haven for the dolce vita crowd.
The beaches at Maiori and Minori, the clear blue-green light shimmering in the Grotta dello Smeraldo and, of course, the everchanging views. It is also possible to make day trips to Capri or to Pompeii.
DRAWBACKS: The winding roads, though great for views, are perilous for driving (take travel sickness remedies). Some of the smaller beaches can get very crowded at the height of the season.
TOP HOTEL: Palazzo Sasso, Ravello, Via San Giovanni del Toro 28, 84010 Ravello: all that modern luxury can offer in a 12th century setting, with stunning views of the sea. Tel 089 81 81 81.
RESTAURANT: Trattoria da Gemma, Via Genova, Amalfi, excellent and unpretentious, with a pleasant terrace, and good local fish dishes. Tel 089 8713 45.
GETTING THERE: Go flies to Naples from Stansted from £75 return including taxes. Tel 0870 607 6543.
TOUR OPERATORS: Long Travel, specialists in Southern Italy. Tel: 01694 722193.
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| | | | Venice - surprise and delight
VENICE
WHY GO? Because Venice is the most beautiful and romantic city in the world. No matter how familiar it might seem from postcards and brochures, it always manages to surprise and delight. Whether watching the sun set over the lagoon or discovering an architectural gem, the city offers a constant source of wonder.
It is a place where you can forget cars exist for a few days and ride in a gondola, lose yourself in the maze of winding alleys; drink Bellini cocktails (made from peach juice and Prosecco) at Harry's Bar, or look at the Giovanni Bellini triptychs in the Accademia.
And when it all gets too much, you can take a boat over to the Lido for a taste of beach life.
MUST-SEES: Everything. Everywhere you look there are sights of extraordinary beauty - from distinctive Venetian Gothic church facades, to lines of washing hung across narrow alleyways.
Top priority is a ride down the Grand Canal, which reveals an unbroken parade of glorious palaces. Also crucial is the steeply-arched Rialto Bridge lined with its quaint little boutiques.
And at the centre of it all is the magnificent St Mark's Square, once called 'the finest drawing room in Europe'. Its elegant arcades and cafes have both a grand and intimate feeling. At one end stands the Basilica di San Marco, a sumptuous Byzantine church. Next to that is Doge's Palace, a masterpiece of Venetian Gothic architecture, connected to its dungeon wing by the famous Bridge of Sighs.
The Lagoon has three unmissable treasures: Murano, with its glass factories; Burano, with its lace shops, and Torcello, with its Romanesque cathedral.
DRAWBACKS: Can get overcrowded. Easy to get lost. Hard to find accommodation. Constant temptation to buy a hideous papier-mache carnival mask. Streets full of water.
TOP HOTEL: Cipriani, Isola della Giudecca 10, a haven of luxury and quiet across from the main part of Venice on the Giudecca island. Tel: 041 52 07 744.
RESTAURANT: Antica Locanda Montin, Fondamenta di Borgo 1147, Dorsoduro. The artist's trattoria, hung with the works of past visitors, has a large, vine-shaded garden. Cheerful but not cheap. Tel 041 522 7151.
GETTING THERE: Fly to Venice or Treviso. Go flies from Stansted to Venice Marco Polo, from £75 return including taxes. Tel 0870 607 6543.
TOUR OPERATORS: Time Off, Venetian short-break specialist. Tel: 0870 584 6363.
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| | | | Sardinia - perfect seaside
SARDINIA
WHY GO? The perfect seaside experience: some of the finest white sandy beaches and clearest seas in the Mediterranean. It has become a favoured holiday destination for discerning sun-worshippers but, though many excellent small resorts have sprung up in recent years, the island is still relatively unspoilt.
It has a rugged, primeval landscape of wind-sculpted rocks, and wild aromatic scrub. Fascinating traces of early civilisations - including standing stones, tombs and thousands of circular, fortified stone houses called nuraghi dating back thousands of years.
An interesting local cuisine featuring delicacies such as spaghetti made with dried mullet roe, and a liqueur made from myrtle leaves.
MUST-SEES: Neptune's Grotto with its stalagmite colonnade near the ancient town of Alghero, Cagliari with its black and white cathedral and archaeological museum. The nuraghic settlement at Su Nuraxi near Barumini.
The great views from the road between Arbatox and Dorgali. The sparkling sand dunes of Chia on the south-west coastline, and the sparkling holidaymakers of the Costa Smeralda (the resort area developed by the Aga Khan since the Sixties) on the north-east of the island.
DRAWBACKS: Many of the interesting archaeological sites are in remote places, and public transport is poor.
TOP HOTEL: Cala di Volpe, Costa Smeralda, seems like a rambling Italian castle, but is new. Luxurious rooms, first-class restaurant, and private beach.
RESTAURANT: La Lepanto, via Carlo Alberto 135, Alghero, for sumptuous fish feasts and other earthy Sardinian specialities. Tel: 079 979 116.
GETTING THERE: Fly to Cagliari, Olbia or Alghero. Ryanair flies from Stansted to Alghero from £80 return. Tel: 0870 156 9569.
TOUR OPERATORS: Voyages Ilena, specialists in self-catering holidays in Sardinia. See http://www.voyagesilena.co.uk or tel: 020 7924 4440.
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| | Available rental properties in Tuscany |
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| |  | | Riverside villa with garden
Beautiful house in the historical village of Bagni di Lucca, with a very large private garden and private access to the river.
|  | | Farm Holiday
FARM HOUSE ON HILLS OF PESCIA encircled from the nature and far away from the chaos of the modern city.
|  | | ANTICO CASTELLO DI SAN GUSME'
The Castle,a beautiful medieval fortified village, is ideally located in the Chiantishire and is one of the most characteristic buildings of Tuscany.
|  | | Casa Marta (Pascoso,Tuscany)
Casa Marta is a 18th-century stone house with three floors located in the village of Pascoso (province of Lucca) in the Apuane Park,680 meters asl.
|  | | Casa O, a 19th-century stone house
Casa O is a 19th-century, fully restored, stone house of 100 square metres approximately
located in the village of Pascoso (province of Lucca)
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