Tasting Tuscan Wine

Today we woke up to what was really the very first terribly yucky day we've had on this entire trip. We docked early this morning in Livorno, which is a port in Tuscany near Pisa. It was very cold, gray, and raining to beat the band. It didn't look as though it had any mind to stop, and, in fact, it never did.

Our original plan was to get off the ship and take a train from Livorno to Certaldo, the Tuscan city in which we lived for a month in 2008. I'm not ashamed to admit that the primary reason I wanted to go to Certaldo was to have the wonderful pastry about which I've had many a dream in the past few years and have never figured out how to recreate.

About a month ago, Bill read in the newspaper that the Italian transportation people were planning a strike on, yes, you guessed it, April 23. We've been following that story since, and the plans have never changed – the strike was on. We simply couldn't risk getting on a train only to have the strike ensue while we were in some Tuscan town. So we bagged that idea and decided instead to do a quick four-hour wine tour. It turned out to be a great idea, though rumor has it that the strike never happened.

I was disappointed that the weather was so bad because the Tuscan countryside is so pretty when the sun shines. But we enjoyed the hour bus drive nevertheless. The little local vineyard was near Lucca. The tour guide warned us before we got there that their wines directly compete with the regional Chianti wines, and suggested we not even say the word Chianti. Remembering the battles between the Florentines and everybody else in the 1400s (and the grudges they hold), we decided to keep our mouths shut.

There were probably 50 or so of us from the ship on the tour, and by the end of the wine tasting, we were all best friends. The wine was delicious, and they accompanied it with local salami and pecorino cheese, olives, and sun-dried tomatoes. Yum.

We got a kick out of the vineyard's dog, named Penelope, who wandered around the tables accepting all of the goodies offered by the tourists. Buona sera Penelope, I said, remembering that dogs in Italy speak Italian.

We enjoyed our last dinner with our dining companions, whom I will miss very much. I worried about 86-year-old Harry all day. He was so excited to show Babe Florence. They survived the tour, but didn't wait around for the tour bus to take them home. Instead, they caught a taxi back to the cruise ship from Florence! Such a New Yawkah.

We said our goodbyes to our stupendous waiters, Valentin and Dorin. I hope our next table will be just as much fun.