Medieval Siena & San Grimignano

On my day off, Lorenzo treated me to colazione of my favourite cioccolato brioche and caffe latte at Montaione, before dropping me off at Castel Fiorentino train station where I boarded the 9.20am ride (3,30euros) to Siena. I had always wanted to visit the medieval town again; the first time in 2001 didn't count as we only stopped at its outskirts on our way to Murlo, a quaint little hole.

As we were slapped in the middle of wine cpuntry, the leisurely train ride offered glimpses of the neat rows of vineyards, heavy with grapes almost ready to be harvested at the turn of autumn. The lady and man in my cabin, both of African descent, stared at me, the only Asian girl, and looked like they wanted to start a conversation but weren't sure if I spoke Italian. I just smiled at no one in particular and drank in the scenery. I loved train rides so much so I think I'd be contented being a train conductor for the rest of my life (bus driver was my other - now you know!).

At Siena, I followed the advice of a lady who told me to take the bus (0,90euros) to the historic centro and the kind bus driver then pointed me the way to the Piazza del Campo where everyone graviated to. It was easy to see why. The square was gorgeous, surrounded with beautifully restored ancient medieval buidlings. The jewel of the crown was the imposing Palazzo Publico, a Gothic town hall (completed in 1342). It was also here that I bravely or rather stupendously overcame my slight claustrophobia by climbing its bell tower, the Torre del Mangia' - the 2nd highest medieval tower in Italy at a neck-stretching 102 metres.

Initially I nearly had a seizure ascending the dark narrow first flight of stairs on my own and immediately retraced my steps to the open terrace for a breather. A kind Swiss couple assured me the stairway would get wider after the first 3 flights, so I took a deep breathe, psyched myself like a gladiator about to meet his doom in the colosseum and steadily laboured the 505 steps to the top!

Well it wasn't as bad as I had imagined, as I was distracted by the spectacular views of the all-encompassing vista of the Tuscan landscape as well as the crammed medieval buidlings and alleys all over Siena (this would make a great locale for the Amazing Race as a detour or roadblock!) My favourite style of architecture was from the Medieval age so Siena was a real treat to drink in the sea of brick and spot the aerial bridges characteristic of this town. I happily peered over the edge and snapped the fontana, resembling a little blue basin in the warm coral-pink fan-shaped piazza below.

The Duomo, touted as one of the best in Italy, was being restored and I could make out its scaffolded black-and-white marbled exterior even from the tower. Later when I found it on foot, I was turned off by the long queue and spurred by my growling stomach to locate La Vecchia Taverna, tucked away in a lane off the main shopping street Via Di Citta, just when it began to pour. Tempted by so many offerings on the menu, I settled for the local culinary highlight - tagliatelle al cinghiale - the savoury wild boar Bolognese-like sauce laced with fennel (7 euros).

It was almost 2pm when I chomped down the quick lunch, so I skipped along the streets shielding my head from the rain with my small folded tourist map, momentarily glancing up at the different colourful flags and twisted glass lamps. They bore the symbols of the 17 contrade which compete in the world-famous Sienese Palio (bareback horserace) that takes place every year at the Piazza in July. Just when I was cursing at the pouring sky and wondering why I listened to Lorenzo and didn't bring my jacket, Giovanni, a silver-streaked gentleman in his 40s, came to shelter me with his umbrella gallantly. I accepted his kind gesture because I really hated half-fu%ked rain and secondly he didn't seem sleazy (although he did raise my eyebrows by asking me if I wanted a caffe at a bar).

A brief polite conversation ensued and he kindly dropped me off at Piazza Gramsci (bus terminal) where I found my waiting bus (5,20euros) to San Grimignano. It was a slow one and half hour ride passing by small towns such as Poggibonsi. I killed time by scrutinizing the women's stylish dressing and their perfectly coiffed hair, and smiled to myself when I saw the children waving goodbye to their mamas. Soon enough, I spotted the striking brick windowless towers of San Grimignano high atop the hills and excitedly asked the driver where I should get off.

Like Lucca, it was an ancient town encased in a wall of brick; its remaining 14 towers out of the 76 from the 13th century erect like birthday candles. The quaint medieval town was so well-preserved it felt like stepping back in time as I fought the crowd from Via San Giovanni to Via San Matteo, stopping for a chocolate-hazelnut gelato (the best I ever had!) and nipped into the shops for Tuscan specialties like the crumbly ricciarelli biscotti - a diabetic nightmare of moist ground almonds, candied peel and honey. And who could also resist the different panforte? *salivate* The chunky noughat-like torta along with the other confectionery delights, were squatting in the caffe's window, begging for me to buy all the varieties - Cioccolato, Marzaphane and Margherita panforte. Si si!

Lured in by a whole stuffed wild boar, I asked the delicatessen's shopkeeper if the 10euros bottle of Vernaccia (a popular local white grape) was 'buono'. She nodded 'si, e' buono' with a gentle smile and proceeded to wrap it and 5 thin moist slices of proscuitto ham, that was screaming 'take me home'. To escape the light drizzle, I took refuge in the must-see Collegiata Basilica (3euros), one of the most intact and frescoed cathedrals in Italy and gave the more commercial Tortura Museum a miss.

With the help of an Austrian couple, I got on the bus to Poggibonsi stazione where I tried to call Lorenzo on the public phone but it didn't seem to be working and the recorded Italian voice was driving me mad. I tried to explain my predicament to the stern-looking bartender but he couldn't understand and frowned at my horrible rambling Italian (telefono cattivo!). Luckily a friendly customer offered me his handphone and that saved the day!

That evening, Poli and Lu (we called each other affectionately by our family names!) tucked into a deliciozo cena of proscuitto di Daniele ('it's one of the best proscuitto in italia' I told him in joy and he said why I know everything!) and a stew of gamberi (shrimps) that he bought by mistake, much to my delight. Yeepee!