When I raised the prospect of going to Siena and Florence with my family,
Felix, 11, said, “Florence? They’re in the Italian premier league.” Tap, tap
went his computer keyboard: “Oh . . . and so are Siena.”
Culture means different things to different people. Sport didn’t really figure
in my Tuscan holiday plans – but then Felix and his older brother Johnny
weren’t mad on reliving the glories of the Renaissance. How to resolve this
impasse? We compromised: we would visit Siena and Florence, but we’d cycle
between the two, across the Chianti hills, with their promise of fast
downhill whizzing and sensational food.
Thus, we arrived in Siena – eventually. It’s not the easiest place to reach,
and an entire day of planes, trains, taxis and buses left us with the
short-haul equivalent of jet lag. Overland lag? Luckily, the city knows how
to treat such a condition. “Here,” the padrona said,
leading us to the top of her old-town hotel, “is a room with a view.”
Outside our window, a puzzle of roofs glowed red in the dying light of
evening. Beyond them was a panorama of hills, umbrella pines and cypresses,
the backdrop to many a Renaissance masterpiece – and the landscape we
planned to cross.
Next morning, there was a slow breakfast, a dark coffee, a crisp pizza, a
classy ice cream. Between bites, we took in some sights, including the
Campo, the fan-shaped piazza that hosts the Palio horse race each summer;
and the Torre del Mangia, at 335ft the tallest building in Renaissance
Italy, and still the tallest in the city. Then we joined the queue for the
Duomo.
Everything in Siena needs to be seen in comparison with Florence, and this is
no exception. At the beginning of the 13th century, Siena’s cathedral was
larger than anything in Florence. When the Florentines went bigger, the
Sienese hatched plans for a mega-Duomo, but the Black Death halted the work
– a vast wall and some marble arcades stand testament to that thwarted
ambition.
Inside, however, all is fulfilment. The biblical scenes on the famous pavement
flooring caught Felix’s attention; he also liked the Piccolomini Library.
The fact that it’s one of Italy’s finest Renaissance buildings may have
passed him by; the discovery that each of its 10 huge frescoes has at least
one character staring straight ahead had him gripped. And there, once again,
was a view of those beckoning hills.
The following morning, fitted out with mountain bikes and Lycra, we cycled out
through the city gates, originally designed to resist Florentine arms. We
carried a route map, drinks and a picnic, while Jayne, the ever-cheerful
tour manager, drove our bags to the next hotel.
Within minutes, we were in the landscape of those paintings, the air sweet
with herbs and resin. Each time we slogged to the crest of a hill, there
stood Siena behind us, in all its walled medieval glory, and, ahead, another
noble house with a neat garden and a view – places of such beauty that I
didn’t object when Felix vowed to buy me one when he’s older.
It is just over 40 miles from Siena to Florence by the direct route, but who
wants direct when you’re in Chianti? We divided it into four stages – three
nights, three hotels, three dinners – a slow progress northward on the
skinniest roads, some paved, others dirt tracks.
How much cycling we tackled was a matter of debate over breakfast each
morning. There was always a choice of routes – on day one they varied
between 11 and 28 miles. And the one we chose was invariably a little longer
than planned, thanks to wrong turns and detours. But distances were not the
point. We were cycling through some of Europe’s most delectable countryside,
crossing steep hills and blessed valleys, sloping vineyards and rocky scarps
– and passing some of the most coveted real estate in the world. It is easy,
with all that has been said and written about Tuscany, to forget just how
seductive the place can be. It was a delight to be reminded.
THAT FIRST DAY, we freewheeled down into Dievole, our hotel on a working wine
estate. We were too late for the wine tasting, but in time for the boys to
jump in the pool and for Sylvie and me to have a drink in the old winery
before dinner, which involved wild boar, mushrooms and the thick red wine of
the house.
The second day, we earned lunch by pedalling 24 miles through the heart of the
vineyards to Gaiole. Here, on a paper-covered table, we were served simple
but stunning pasta. That afternoon, while the others headed straight for the
next hotel, Johnny and I took a longer route to the hilltop town of Volpaia.
At the start of the Renaissance, Volpaia was a key military lookout, the sort
of place – and these valleys are full of them – where people looked up from
their vines to watch armies marching through en route to Florence or Siena.
They still make wine, of course, and I was tempted to stop and taste, but
Johnny reminded me that the climb to Volpaia had been demanding – the route
notes described it as “very long and tough”, and they did not lie – and
there was another ridge to cross before we reached our lodgings.
So, instead of wine, we sipped water, chewed fruit and took a breather above
old roofs, orchards, vineyards and wooded slopes. It was a scene of such
sylvan tranquillity that we sat in silence, father and son, for several
minutes, then stood up smiling and, without a word, slogged to the top of
the hill. In the last of the daylight, we stormed down the very steep, very
rough, very exciting slope to our next hotel.
Cycle Tuscany in summer and you risk frying in the saddle. Go too late,
however, as we discovered, and you risk rain. This was September – and, on
the last day of riding, the weather turned. We rode into Florence through
drizzle, under a leaden sky.
Most cities are a misery to cycle into, but our route here was as good as they
get, taking us through the satellite town of Galluzzo, along a maze of old,
walled roads and past the gates of Poggio Imperiale, a huge neoclassical
palace, once home to the Medici, and later to Napoleon’s sister, and now a
very grand school. Further down the hill, an even grander view waited: the
River Arno below us and, beyond, the whites, yellows and reds of the city,
dominated by the building the Sienese failed to emulate – the Duomo, with
Brunelleschi’s stunning 15th-century dome.
That first night in Florence, still buzzing with a sense of achievement, we
escaped the rain under the exquisite arches of the 14th-century Loggia and
sat looking out at the Palazzo Vecchio, now as always Florence’s town hall,
and at the square’s bronze and marble sculptures, a copy of Michelangelo’s
David among them.
Florence has a reputation for long queues, high prices, an overwhelming
selection of sights and mediocre food. Not the ideal recipe for family
travel. But advance planning paid off, as did advance-ticket purchase for
the city’s main gallery, the Uffizi.
It takes some brilliance to make sense of the Uffizi while holding the
attention of a teenager and an 11-year-old, but Marco Secci, our guide in
Florence, managed with ease. For three hours, he kept us fixed on a single
theme, the representation of the Virgin and Child – a clever choice, as it
took us from Giotto to Caravaggio via Botticelli, Michelangelo and Leonardo.
We got sidetracked, of course, but that was part of the pleasure, being led
away as the boys spotted something – first a row of Roman busts, next
Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, then the prancing horses and forest of lances
of Uccello’s The Battle of San Romano.
“That,” Marco explained, “was painted to celebrate the victory of the
Florentines over Siena in 1432, but it was not the end of the rivalry.”
Indeed not, as Felix later pointed out. In a neat dovetailing of sport and
culture, the two sides had met twice on the football pitch in recent weeks,
he told me happily, and won one game each. Plus ça change.
Anthony Sattin travelled as a guest of ATG Oxford
Travel brief
Tour operators: ATG Oxford (01865 315678, www.atg-oxford.com)
has an eight-day Chianti and Florence Freewheeling itinerary from £775pp, B&B,
including bike hire and luggage transfers, but not flights or transfers.
Alternatively, try Inntravel (01653 617946, www.inntravel.co.uk)
or Headwater (01606 720199, www.headwater.com).
Getting there: fly to Florence from Gatwick with Meridiana (0845 355
5588, www.meridiana.it), or to Pisa
from eight UK airports (and Dublin) by Ryanair (www.ryanair.com),
EasyJet (www.easyjet.com), Jet2 (0871
226 1737, www.jet2.com), Thomsonfly (www.
thomsonfly.com) and British Airways (0844 493 0787, www.ba.com).
Trains from Pisa airport to Florence take an hour (www.italiarail.co.uk;
from £6). Siena is a couple of hours away, generally involving two changes
(from £8).
Bike hire: Florence by Bike (www.florencebybike.it)
has touring bikes for a week for £106.
Guide: Marco Secci (00 39 333 537 1411, marcosecci@supereva.it)
can initiate your children in the wonders of western art in Florence.
