5
Their condensed cultural injection had lasted twenty-seven minutes. They waved goodbye and made for Fiorenza, the cuff of the boot.
Arriving within the hour and before realising they actually had arrived, they joined the main flow of traffic just as Florence hit peak traffic.
'Crush hour. Jeez!' And with his usual crystal lateral logic Kevin suggests, 'In future, why not time our journeys, starting early and finishing early, or is it always rush hour in cities now?'
'What a good idea. Not the rush hour bit but the bit about avoiding death by car crash.'
'Shall I read to you this nugget about Florence or would you rather hear about Dougal?' Silence. 'OK. “Florence is known for its neo-Renaissance-style weekly course in Group Astral Planing held on cloud nine and its turbulent political history which included evening classes in carpentry held in the castle owned by the powerful Medici family.”’
The Zorbus crossed the Arno twice more, on one occasion almost knocking a man down because Ben didn't understand what the 'AVANTI' sign meant at the zebra crossing. He was close enough to possibly knock the cigarette out of the man's hand.
Anyway, the other pedestrians shouted and waved their fists but they sped past. Kevin fully expected to be pulled over by the rozzers due to Ben's culpable ignorance, but they managed a clean getaway.
In the glimpses and first impressions they see extraordinary mediaeval splendour in city architecture and design, lone ladies waiting along the highways in the shade, extraordinary modern fashion, modern stresses and strains but from inside the Zorbus bubble it's all a mind-boggling panto.
If you follow directions for Sienna on the round just south out of Florence and pull over about five miles further on when you see large For Camping signs, you will find yourself in a very small village dissected by the main road. It may or may not be Bottai. Further signs will bring you to a first class campsite sitting on the other side of a little bridge which crosses a weir.
This is a favourite spot for anglers, in fact they watched a couple landing a huge salmon, probably ten kilo, and it's bulk made them gasp. Anyway, back to the camping - instead of paying the extortionate rate to park and sleep on the said campsite, it is permissible to park in one of the many lanes around the bridge area and if you face east you'll also have the sun on your face when you wake up. At the local Sports Bar you can freshen up in the Waterloo, play cards or snooker and directly across the main drag is a wholesale wine and olive oil merchant - all part of the adventure.
Before sleep on their first night they took a stroll, following the last fingers of mist sloping down towards a narrow stream with its murmuring, pebbly bed. The stream ran just below a small castle where, according to Ben's companion, Kevin Know-it-all, it was the home of Lorenzo Di Medici who convinced the genius Michelangelo into creating a little fraudulent artwork which was exposed as such by the intended buyer but nevertheless, he was so impressed by the sculpture he invited the young artist to Rome and Michelangelo's life was changed forever.
In the air just above the old river bridge, they were amazed to see countless tiny lights flashing like a galaxy about two feet above in a swirling Milky Way. Not sure if they weren't hallucinating they drew closer and were delighted to behold a spiralling mass of fireflies. Tiny fiery lights dancing in the air like a magical faery festival. Enthralled, they stood in careful silence until out of nowhere a car carelessly roared across the bridge almost colliding with them and shattering the beautiful vision before racing away into the darkness. One little star fell onto the bridge and seemed to start to fade. Ben ran over to see if there was anything he could do.
'Firefly, my little friend, I won't forget your sacrifice. You died that I might live. Thank you. It was you or me. I owe you,' he must have been a little tipsy or over- reacting, but to his surprise the little thing brightened and brightened, lifted and flew away into the night.
Out of the shadows came a barely audible whisper, 'Don't worry, Ben, he'll be back. You owe him.'
Later when falling asleep in their confident comfortable bags, Ben heard Kevin whisper, 'Listen to the waves,' and figured they'd been inland far too long.
Sunday rose already hot. At around eight they made their way back to the bridge to splash on some stream water for a change. Ben was drying his face when four or five rusty red peacock moths began fluttering above the gurgling stream just behind Kevin. Ben didn't warn him in case his scream shattered eternity.
It was a gentle, hospitable place with natural music in the hum and buzz of the woods and so, leaving Kevin to continue his Leonardo book in the shade of a tree, Ben traipsed off into the undergrowth to listen to the natural sounds of the wilderness. It was one of the things that makes him realise his place in everything. He sat with his back against a tree and with eyes closed let his breathing flow easily and simply. Light and sound, taste, smell and touch are all interwoven in a natural tapestry. And with the following sense of calm came the music in a romantic flutey duet from what may or may not have been a pair of blackcaps just like the ones at home, topped with what was definitely a whistling willow warbler somewhere close by – or maybe some other whistling bird. Mood music came from the thicket more songs he was unable to recognise, a gentle rustling through the trees, highlighted by the occasional paradiddle from a woodpecker, and a solo from the cricket near his boots. Flowing along with all this was the trickle and the chuckle of the river, buzzing with insects and backed by the sporadic bursts of mocking laughter from a fleet of raucous ducks as a warning to anyone who took themselves too seriously. All in the moment. One life.
During their tea and porridge breakfast they realised they hadn't really finished with Florence. They decided to take the thousand mile hike back to the city via the manic thoroughfare of wild animals, birds and road hogs. An hour at most to cover the eight kilometres of mad main roads, after all they couldn't get lost and they were pretty fit, well, sort of. They'd just walk straight until they met their friend, the Arno, cross one of its bridges and they'd be there. Anyway, the walk would do them good.
Ninety minutes later, Kevin and Ben, were completely frazzled. Walking along the motor route back to Florence was a real test. Dodging crazy vehicles roaring past was scary. Sometimes so close they were almost singeing the hairs on their legs. The deafening mad truckers kept beeping and waving as they thundered by, and with the sun persistently burning their necks, they entered the city in an exhausted daze. And then, after rounding one or two corners they came face to face with a full sized replica of Michelangelo's David on the Piazza di Michelangelo itself. Their exhaustion evaporated and they were stunned. Their gaze crossed the Arno to the city itself. Behind and below, spread the panoramic view of Florence, the most breathtaking Tuscan city. Which century were they in now? They fell silent, overwhelmed and by the definition of genius standing before them.
Without a doubt, the David is magnificent. Extraordinary. Much larger than Kevin or Ben expected. Perfect proportions but over seventeen feet tall. The top half slightly broader in perspective so that when viewed from below it falls into perfect orientation. A sensitive masterpiece. A little different from other David images they'd seen. And although he appears relaxed and rather menacing, when you look more closely this David shows slight signs of stress and tension. Usually you see him standing before the giant Goliath, or with the giant's head at his feet but here there was no giant just a perfect man definitely frowning. He looks unsure. Unsure but physically superb. To create such an inspired image of man shows us, hundreds of years later, the Michelangelo genius stands alone.
Florence is the capital city of Tuscany. The birthplace of the Renaissance, of opera, once the most important medieval city in Europe for over two hundred years. It has a detached, refined, elegance frozen in time and gives the feeling it actually knows it is all the excellence of medieval Europe. Florence enfolds its domain and just rests there, head back, arms akimbo, flaunting its domes and spires, and red tiled rooftops in a valley divided by the good old River Arno. Kevin and Ben gazed in admiration. All the big tourist attractions are on the northern bank and the student-type places, narrow streets, cafes, small shops, bookstores, are southern. Giovanni's American Snack bar in Duomo Square is one of the friendliest coffee house and not just with the cleanest toilets but also the most interesting graffiti too:
'Smokers – the world is their ashtray' and, 'Life is far too important to take seriously' Mind-boggling Florence has the most breathtaking architecture, exciting narrow streets, wide piazzas, and countless churches upon churches, more than half of the world's greatest artistic treasures and even more gorgeous ladies. Whether walking, or cycling, biking, or in cars, driving Lambrettas or side-saddle as passengers - nothing removes their effortless grace and charm.
Kevin and Ben walked around admiring and marvelling for hours on end until their bodies had had enough. They would stagger back along the highway to the Villa, get changed and return in the evening to join in the fun.
The walk seemed endless because they were not used to striding such distances at home, and certainly not in such heat, so when finally they fell into seats at the local sport cafe and drained thirst quenching beers, it did not take long to come to the conclusion it might be best if they forget the return journey and stay put, moving south to Sienna next day.
But Florence was in their hearts and there she would stay. Maybe they'd drop in on the way back, if they ever came back, but for the moment, they decided to leave it there.
Their impatience to navigate south was flattened by an unexpected scare. It was around fifty miles to Sienna, they had a full tank of petrol, Kevin had a full packet of cigarettes, the cab was bathed in sunlight, they were wearing sunglasses, their belts were buckled, the key was in the ignition but when Ben turned the key – nothing! Just deafening silence! Not even a phutt. He tried again – nothing, just a pathetic click. They sat in a totally confused and puzzled silence.
Kevin eased Ben out of the driving seat and stared at the battery beneath, 'Let's start at the beginning, shall we?' They stood there in total confusion staring into a black hole. After several empty minutes, young Kevin had what has become known as, The Big Bang, 'The battery terminals. Why don't we start by cleaning off the pale green crust from the battery terminals? Maybe that's the problem.'
They cleaned off the battery terminals, replaced the connections, turned on the ignition and the Zorbus spat lightening.
But it wasn't the last of Kevin's genius, 'Know what I think, Caracciola? I think our one thousand five hundred mile drive quite possibly may have worked the fan belt loose which, in turn, would cause the battery to over-compensated and collect a coating of the pale green crust and that would make a negative terminal. Also, I have no doubt most vehicle drivers would have expected this. In future, terminal leads must be kept free of corrosion crust and tomorrow you must buy a real tool to loosen the generator nut so that then we will be able to tighten the fan belt again. To sum up, I believe you are running the engine inefficiently with a slack belt.'
Ben took it all in with chin on chest. From that moment, Ben regarded his friend with a new and growing respect because his logic was feasible and made such complete basic sense. But how, as a barman, did he learn so much stuff?
Before they left Bottai, they took the precaution of dropping in on the local wine lady at her vineyard just across the main drag from the Sports Bar and bought a very reasonably priced five litres of local vino. At least they would be sure of a drop of di plonko with their dinner wherever they eventually park next.
And so! Forward to Sienna and the unforgettable high point of their visit to Tuscany. Sienna is the most lovely, medieval, wondrous ancient city of heat and perfume, the fascinating hill town of ancient culture. On the way they were accompanied and entertained by their and even a little draught Chianti and so by early evening, when they met the Sienna city sign, they were melting. But Ben loved that drive, a mere ramble at fifty-odd miles.
Straight away Ben spotted the most obvious parking space in a tree-lined boulevard on the outskirts of the city. However, Kevin's brain, aroused at being the centre of attention for the first time since leaving Britain, was on a roll and now he figured that since they were not exactly sure of how far it was to the city centre, why not take a chance and move in street by street and look for a more convenient spot? Imagine his triumph when, by complete chance, they came upon a residential permit parking zone beneath a sign showing a car being towed away. They had found the city car park and it was free! It lay at the foot of what seemed to be solid old stone sloping castle walls and with this sense of security they chose to stay at least another day and enjoy the comely city with its sultry heat and lovely student ladies.
Kevin celebrated by cooking a dinner of vegetable curry and the fragrance filled the van if not the whole car park. It really was delicious! Next the Chianti, playing cards, humming and listening to Bob Marley, all by candle light even though it was still quite light outside. The clouds actually had the cheek to rain a little too. Big, grape-sized, dusty summer drops but by then they were too Jamaican to care. They had been hoping to park in the shade of the city walls but all the parking spaces were taken. They had to wait, but not for long. Kevin was changing the cassette when he noticed a Lamborghini gliding o ut of its parking slot and taking off along the road. Ben jumped behind the driving seat and took the vacant space. To celebrate, a taster for a change but after just one glass they were too fatigued to drink any more and actually slept for over an hour.
The Lamborghini parking space was a world class parking experience of unbeatable value. Enjoying shade for most of the day, safely in a corner out of the way beneath indomitable and steadfast city walls, it was just where they wanted to be. The space was designed to give more time away from the wheels with access to one of Italy's most interesting cities. It may be true they walked on rose petals, pooed caviar and wee- weed champagne, but the van roof did leak a little and that kept them from being too cocky.
Ben's first shave in twenty-five years was patchy. Alexander the Great is said to have strongly promoted shaving during his reign in the 4th century BCE to avoid 'dangerous beard - grabbing in combat', and because he believed it looked tidier. But Ben reckoned it was because he thought it made him look more attractive.
Shaving to Ben was man's curse. A life-long, repetitive chore. Expensive, often painful and always boring. Every time he brushed his teeth and gazed into a mirror he would see the stubble in the form of tiny demented dots sprouting all over his chin and neck. In the main, it was uninvited and invasive like weed. A man shaves because his partner does not trust men who hide their faces behind a beard. He shaves and she kisses his red, blotchy, patchy cheeks with an insignificant Mmm, at most. Doesn't she realise a fair amount of skin comes off with the hair?
And why grow hair on our heads anyway? It's an inheritance, another lifelong chore of cutting, styling, designing, and all boringly vain. It was OK when he was starting out but now, at fifty, he much preferred the baldness. It was much more honest and decidedly stress-free.
Already he was bored with shaving and it was only about a week since the beard came off at Michelangelo 's. But since he had started, he would have to keep it up until he could no longer be bothered and he'd be back to having a beard with or without the combat.
Their first evening in Sienna, and Ben and Kevin were buzzing. Cleaner clothes, jackets and feeling smart-ish, they made their way across piazzas and down very narrow cobbled streets looking for a Posers Bar whilst ever on the alert and fully attentive to the menacing threat from the Style Police. Certainly, they did not want to spend the night in a dingy, unfashionable, tacky police cell.
Ben felt slightly foolish in black baggies, blazer and pink T-shirt because it looked as though he had spent a little time studying his wardrobe on what to wear before hitting the streets and the best he could come up with was an effete but very obvious, look-at-me, don't-I-look-trendy in an extremely tasteless middle-aged sort of way. When at last they plonked themselves in a very studenty cool bar close to the university and spent at least a half hour of ogling and lusting after the smooth and olive skinned, optimistic, bright and glossy succulent young girlie students, it was quite traumatic to see a pummelled, greying, tired, lack-lustre and dulled, ageing, flabby face melting before him only to realise the image of the bloodhound looking back from the table top was his own reflection. Demoralising! He was horrified and shocked. All he could claim in his defence was that he was very tired, slightly bevvied and in serious need of a rejuvenating good night's sleep and perhaps a little controversial skin treatment. But not being one to take a hint, as soon as they were back at the Zorbus, they poured the wine and sat up playing cards into the small hours until they argued.
And it was surprising because the mood until then had been breezy and light. The cards were flying, the wine was flowing when, out of the blue, Kevin's covert sarcasm became more barbed and cutting and mocking and his attitude gave the game an unpleasant edge.
Maybe these were just gaming tactics but Kevin seemed driven to making Ben feel subservient. He wondered what had urged him to feel such bitterness. It was noticeable once before when they had been drinking and Kevin had become hard-edged in his conversation. It is not terribly noticeable but the subtle vulgarity is not funny and the mockery is penetrating and it's a bit like boys arm-wrestling for superiority without any sense of sport. It was quite sinister and unnecessary. Gradually Ben withdrew from the game, went for a walk and by the time he returned Kevin was snoring.
Strangely the early day brought a lightness and a brightness to Ben's mood compared to the darkness of the previous night's feud, simply perhaps due to just being up and about in the clear freshness of only half past six. He felt bright. Outside the bus he cleaned dinner's dirty dishes and brushed his teeth while thinking positive thoughts to their neighbours, the blackbirds, the crows and the pigeons who lived in little holes of the old city wall in front of the Zorbus. Kevin was at ease again and reflecting on those moments of feeling down or cheesed off and the simple act of tidying his flat usually gets rid off all the clutter and instantly he feels better. Taking his advice, a simple task like brushing out the van and tidying away unnecessary objects helped Ben feel more confident and strong. Good advice! It would be a day of organised motivation. He remembered he must buy a small socket set with plug socket, a set of Phillips screwdrivers, write to Barbara, his Dad and Andrea in Hungary and also send postcards to Magic Alex and the gang in Falmouth. Easy! He thought they each felt bad about being edgy with each other again and as usual he felt completely in the dark as to why the disturbance happened. Chum Kevin was framed within his principals and laws of relationships which were often hard to fathom but which Ben had to respect.
Anyway, they went for a stroll as was usual, to familiarise themselves with their latest resting place in case they got lost. They wandered the steep and crooked streets, looking through windows into peoples homes amongst the Music Academies, Art centres and countless shoe shops on up to a high point with a clear view over the sights, sounds and across to at least another two high points in this stately and elegant city.
Eventually, a spiritual home sang out in the guise of the Enotica Bar, a beacon of hospitality and good taste in a highly competitive area. The Enotica sits in the Piazza Di Campo and although it looked expensive it was the bar’s charm that they couldn’t resist.
The Piazza is a large and fascinating thirteenth century semi-circular space set on a concave site in the centre of Sienna. It’s a perfect place for sitting, sipping, observing antics, and people-gazing. It is the place where a famous horse race is held twice a year, something they agreed was far too energetic for the likes of them. No. It was much more useful as a ringside seat from where they might watch the wheels go round and round.
They began chatting to Marcus, the lone waiter and aficionado of all things to do with the square, ‘The square, she is very old. The paving in the square was laid back in the thirteen hundreds and is made of red brick arranged in fishbone pattern. The piazza is divided into nine sections radiating from the mouth of the central water drain. The square has managed to hold the entire population of Sienna, who gathered here to attend events, tournaments, and buffalo and bull races. There is more but I have go and serve the drinks. Back later. Ciao.’
So there they were, at the mercy of another magnificent medieval setting, the balmy evening, the movement of stars in the darkening blue sky and good vibrations. They drank brandies and after showing interest in Marco's conversation with other tourists he brought them a portion of a pate totally exclusive to Sienna. It is called Pate Crostini Di Fagiano and is made from finely minced goose liver. Entertaining to the taste and smell but quite disturbing when you realise how it is produced at a frightening and thoughtless rate.
On their way back to the Zorbus through the throngs, Kevin gave Ben a nudge, 'Hey, have you noticed how the women give you the once over as they approach but, unlike men who start at the top and work down over a woman's body, the women first check out a man's shoes before working their way up. And have you noticed how they never get past our knees?'
'I'd still rather see Anna than see Esther.'
'Was that a pun?'
The next day was baking hot. Kevin figured the Sirens were calling because they decided to move across to the east coast in the hope of finding work and maybe even give some serious thought to stretching across the Adriatic as far as Greece. There was one small adjustment to be made before they could leave. The fan belt needed attention. This meant buying a spanner, a screwdriver, and a pair of pliers. After a few enquiries they learned there was a weekly street market in a square on the other side of the car park not two minutes walk from Zorbus. They found all those bits on one stall.
Indeed, the fan belt had stretched and according to the Idiots' Guide it had to be replaced or tightened but try as they might they just couldn't unravel the instructions for the average idiot until, once again, Kevin went off and sat down in silence to try and think it through.
All was still until a piercing, 'Got it!' tore the morning apart with the perfect solution and brought Rodin's Thinker marching back from where he'd been sitting.
'The top pulley comes apart as two plates. Then with the belt loosely held in place by the plates, it's a case of gently tightening the nut which then gradually closes the gap, lifting the belt a mere quarter of an inch but giving exactly the right tension.'
It was so simple their devious minds had missed it - well, Ben's had. Grateful, he topped up the oil, making sure to get most of it all over his hands and jeans, and they were almost ready to go.
As usual, when they first pulled in to the car park, they had looked about for a likely coffee house and had noticed a very smart little place across from the city walls, right by a zebra crossing, and in the spotless toilet they found scented soap, hot water and paper towels, in fact, exactly what was on their list. It was just about big enough for one at a time. Ben cleansed himself first then returned to the Villa to get the grease and oil off. It was everywhere, even on his face. While he was in the van, Kevin returned and waited outside. When Ben had finished taking care of his body, all laundered, dried, polished and changed, he picked up the Idiot's Guide again to try and de-mystify the procedure for changing the points. After triple study and yet still none the wiser, slowly he became aware of Kevin still standing outside.
Kevin saw Ben look at him through the window and yelled, 'Finished yet!?'
There was a wild anger in his eyes. Ben had become so absorbed in the Guide that he had forgotten Kevin was waiting for his own chance to get rid of the grime and grease after his sweaty hard labour. But why hadn't Kevin simply used his sarcasm to prod Ben? But too late, he was furious and Ben was 'selfish, thinking of no one but yourself' etc.,
and Ben was incredulous in the face of all this verbal abuse just for being absent-minded so by the time Kevin was ready and they'd set off east towards the Asiatic Coast, there was a stony silence on the flight deck of the Zorbus.
They left Sienna around ten and already it was baking in the Zorbus. The night before, Ben had written to Andrea inviting her to Greece but next day his invitation to poor Andrea to join them for a short holiday in Greece was now looking like a thoughtless mistake although he did think it might help her find some closure. He asked her to address her reply to the 'Poste Restante' in Rimini to arrive in about a week which would give them enough time to get there and investigate the possibilities of work over on the east coast.
Up and up again, twisting and easing the bus across and down the Emilia Romagna Mountains through Arezzo, Sensepolcro and on and on until long shadows and miles of silence over five hours brought on the need to find a place to stop and change the mood.