October 15, 1996

The lower east coast of Italy is nothing to write home about, which is why, up until now, I haven't. Town after town, industrial area after industrial area filled our windshield. We did find a few small unpopulated beach areas where we parked, but we were glad that we'd snuck showers at the Brandisi port, because the waves were too high and the weather too wet or too cold to enjoy the surf.

Near Ascona we turned inland and immediately it was more interesting. We wound through olive orchards, through hills and valleys and tiny towns where traffic down the winding centers could just scrape by on two lanes. I half-expected to see Mama Italia poking her head from a high window yelling "It's Prince spaghetti day," until John informed me that the commercial I was referring to was filmed in Boston's North End. So much for stereotypes.

Eventually hitting every town, stop-go, stop-go, wasn't worth it's weight in fuel and, although for two days we've avoided the autostrade because of its exorbitant prices, we gave in and emptied our pockets at the highway piggy bank for a stretch of uninterrupted pavement. At 120 kph, Florence seemed only minutes away. Ah, but one dip deserves another and once we were within the Florence city limits, we found ourselves shelling out again. Camping near the Piazzale Michelangelo was no less than $25 per night. Yikes! But you get what you pay for and for us that meant a view of the center that was hard to beat. The Duomo Cathedral's grand brick colored dome dominates the skyline and at night, from the Piazzale, the glow was spectacular.