The day after Siena, and having enjoyed a leisurely breakfast we decided to leave the car and take a little wander into the little hill top village that is San Gusme.
Down the Cypress Avenue to the very end, past the Ruin and at the fork not knowing which way to go.
Luckily enough Lucca the local Game keeper was at hand and pointed us in the right direction.
10 min he said. Famous last words. Uphill all the way, through wild woods, past clearings that presented views of some beauty. Vine hills framed by poppies and daisies in full bloom.
The sun was shining, birds were singing and on we climbed. A good 90 min later we reached San Gusme. Took a look at a pristine and very much cared for resting place of the dead. One could still feel the mourning and the grief. The silence was tangible.
We climbed the last steps into the Village square.
Two or three restaurants, a bar, a post office, a bank and a Tailor. By now it was Lunchtime and the Tailor closed shop. A bend over gentleman of advancing years, but in great spirits.
The Baker lady hurrying up to deliver the mornings work to the restaurants.
We purchased a traditional Tuscan loaf from her delivery van, to take home.
On our way out of the village we decided to rest on a patch of land that was freshly mowed. The bench was slightly covered in tiny green and purple pieces. We rested, made some photographs and headed on home. 30 min or so later my left thigh began to burn and weep. I thought I was stung by a horsefly. Not so, the pulverised green and purple blanket so delightfully draped over the bench was the leftover from the Giant Hogweed massacre.
In cultivated wild gardens
Innocently planted the Giant Hogweed throughout the land
Botanical creature stirs, seeking revenge
My leg was on fire and blistered like I had third degree burns. And still we had a fair way to walk to our Villa.
We made it home. I cleaned up and was hungry. A welcome looking sandwich of Tuscan bread and prosciutto ham. A cool glass filled with the freshest spring water imaginable. But what was this. Two hard pieces of bread devoid of any taste. Ahh the traditional Tuscan salt-less Bread. And why not. When in Rome….
A day to remember, or in part to forget. Sitting here two weeks later my leg is just about resembling some normality and regaining full use.