There was a moment,
about three quarters of the way up, as the steps became steeper and the railing
a little flimsier, when I considered the ascent a bad idea. My two year old
daughter clung to me like unripe grapes to the vine, and in turn I clutched her
with one arm so that my other was free to hold the railings.
The steps we had already
conquered swirled around the inside wall of a centuries-old stone tower. We had
reached a landing, looked down the center abyss to the ground far below, and
then up at the remaining climb up an old wooden ladder. It was stifling hot and
the air inside the medieval fortification pressed heavy on the body. It didn’t
help that I had hoisted an extra 30 pounds up the stairs.
As my daughter and I
slowly, carefully slid up the almost vertical ladder – the final lunge up the
tower – my hands ached from gripping the worn rungs and her little body. The
excitement I had felt with the first step down below was now hard to conjure.
We reached the last
ladder rung. Simultaneously my daughter’s little head and my big one poked up
through the hatch and into the glaring Italian sunlight. We emerged from the
ladder onto the crown of San Gimignano’s tallest tower, the Torre Grossa. I was
exhausted, hot and my knees were trembling.
Was the climb worth it?
My eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and as the whole expanse of Tuscany came
into focus, hills and vineyard and cypress trees sprawled in every direction,
the answer was instantly and profoundly obvious: yes it is.
Every direction was a
postcard panorama. Leaning over one side of the Torre Grossa, I pointed out to
my daughter the hills, green and gold in midsummer splendor, rolling and cresting
like waves to the horizon. Over on the other side, vineyards pockmarked the
slopes, not yet heavy with fruit but close to providing fodder for the region’s
local chianti and vernaccia wine. Still in another direction, the rooftops of
San Gimignano jutted up and down, every once in a while broken by a medieval
tower, like stepping stones leading the way to the walled fortress on the edge
of town. My daughter pointed out the piazzas buzzing with activity underneath
us.
Since we stood atop the
tallest tower in San Gimignano, we had the benefit of looking down on the town’s
other towers. Only eleven stone towers still stand out of more than 70 that
once dominated the town in its medieval heyday, each a physical manifestation
of power, built by the wealthy to show off (and to sometimes drop hot oil on
potential intruders).
Every Tuscan hilltown
has a unique trait, whether it is a landmark or local cuisine or artisan craft.
Because of this, visiting a Tuscan hilltown is an intimate affair, like getting
to know a new member of the same family. They are all distinctly Tuscan but
also memorable for their own distinct reason.
The towers are San
Gimignano’s calling card, giving visitors a sight unseen anywhere else in the
world – Tuscany’s version of a downtown skyline.
Because of this novelty,
and the porcupine-like city photos it generates, San Gimignano is frequently a
stop on many tour bus routes, making it a crowded place during the high season.
But that doesn’t mean it is not worth visiting. Even with crowds, this small Tuscan
hilltown has plenty to explore, from its churches, to the great views at the
aforementioned fortress, to the small workshop off the main drag that has a
full miniature model of the entire town.
As with most every small
village or big city in Italy, San Gimignano is most Italian (and therefore most
enjoyable), when experienced unscripted. Getting lost among the steep cobbled
walkways off the main thoroughfare and sticking around in the evening hours
after the tour buses have gone, will allow your eyes to feast on a relaxed San
Gimignano. The whole town exhales as the tour buses clatter away.
I was lucky to be
staying at a villa within a ten minute drive of San Gimignano, so experiencing it
in both ways was easy. The difference was literally night and day.
We spent several
evenings strolling the streets alongside locals and other lucky overnight
tourists. Peaceful, small town calm settled over the cafés and piazzas, save
for the handful of children running around the central stone well in Piazza de
la Cisterna. But who could blame them, with Gelateria Dondoli, one of the world’s
premier gelato shops mere steps away. Award-winning in every way, my entire
family indulged in Sergio’s frozen master craft on numerous occasions, sampling
traditional flavors and the more obscure, like berry rosemary and eggnog vin
santo (sweet white wine).
Dinners were unrushed
and unforgettable, as most are in Tuscan hamlets. We ate at a restaurant
situated in a garden high atop the town, had some quick pizza at a café off
Piazza Cisterna, and snagged some wild boar sausage at a small shop.
On our last night, we
indulged at La Mangiatoia Ristorante. My fork cut right through a local venison
medallion glazed with fig sauce and in-season mushrooms, the savory meat
bursting with flavor. Simple pasta dishes, like wild boar ragu and homemade
pesto, thoroughly pleased the entire family. In all, the meal was a highlight
during a week of culinary excellence in Tuscany. And of course, even with
dessert and after-dinner drinks at La Mangiatoia, we had to end the evening at
Dondoli.
To consume the food
here takes little effort, even though to consume the views requires a bit of
leg work. Nevertheless, San Gimignano fulfills in both regards.
Back on top of Torre
Grossa, before we descended, my daughter spotted some bright purple flowers growing out of the
tower’s rampart. I picked one and gave it to her. She clutched it tightly, and
I clutched her, as we prepared to back down the ladder to the landing and down
the staircase.
“It’s so beautiful,”
she said.
I smiled at her, and
then we both soaked in one more glance of the striking Tuscan vista before
ducking down through the ladder hatch. My response to her was instantly and profoundly
obvious: “Yes, it is.”
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