I had planned to spend one night in Lucca but spent three.

I learned that you can ignore the guidebooks.

In chorus they all say you can “see” Lucca in half a day. The truth is, if all you want to do is “see” it, an hour, or maybe two, [...]]]> This is the Italy I have been seeking.

I had planned to spend one night in Lucca but spent three.

I learned that you can ignore the guidebooks.

In chorus they all say you can “see” Lucca in half a day. The truth is, if all you want to do is “see” it, an hour, or maybe two, will do. It’s that small. The justly famous walled town is about two miles in circumference and flatter than a New York style pizza.

But if you want to “experience” Lucca, you must put away your watch and bury your calendar. A timeless place requires time. A timeless place deserves time.

I’d booked a room at Il Seminario B&B. As I walked from the tourist office near the train station, the  late afternoon streets were pretty empty, but not in a scary way. It was just quiet. I saw no pedestrians and few cars.

Ominously, I saw no sign of anything that looked like a hotel or a bed-and-breakfast.

One of the ways towns around world protect themselves from modernism is by strict – and strictly enforced – ordinances that limit or even prohibit advertising signs outside business.

I have lived in Lake Forest, Illinois and once owned an antique shop in Evanston. Both have similar ordinances.

No sign is permitted to protrude from a building. The uncluttered  streetscape in Evanstion was a powerful attraction to upscale clients. Earlier on this trip (see http://oneweekinamsterdam.info) I saw the same beneficial effect in small Dutch towns.

Here in Lucca, the effect works as well, but I suspect it is not the result of a law, but the strange whim of Il Seminario’s management, that there is no sign at all, of any kind, not even a street number painted on the door.

Armed with the excellent free street map, clearly marked by the pleasant woman at the Tourism Office near the train station, I stood at the exact spot she indicated. Large, high, beautifully paneled anonymous doors stared back at me.

I wandered back and forth along the empty sidewalk, forced by an increasingly impatient bladder to keep moving or start leaking. I did the Dance of the Untipped Kidney. I had not felt such urgency since the last cold day I drank three beers.

Just as I was about to rush behind one of the parked cars for relief, a man and a young woman walked up to the large unmarked door by which I was fidgeting. He had a confident manner and a set of keys that suggested multiple accesses.

I spoke in hope but feared that failure now would be damp and embarrassing.

“Scuzi, parle Inglese? ”

“Why yes. May I help you?”

“Please, where is Il Seminario?”

“Ahh, are you Mister Harkins?”

I nodded affirmation as strongly as I dared without wetting my pants.

“Oh, Mister Harkins. I am Paulino, the manager. I have just called the Tourism Office and they said you were walking over here.  Please come in, come in.”

Fortunately, the “necessary” is directly inside the front door.

I’d snagged the last available room in what had once (maybe 100+ years ago) been a seminary for candidates for the priesthood. If this is how they lived, I want to take Holy Orders. But, I doubt they were offered the sinful luxury I found.  The only issue I had, the same as I found in other repurposed buildings in Europe, was that top floor rooms should not be assigned to lumbering 6-footers like myself.

I gave myself at least 6 cranial bruises on the romantically exposed rafters before I learned to stoop when leaving the center of the room.

The room was large, with a king-sized bed, excellent reading lamps, a lovely view over surrounding rooftops, clean and fresh-smelling. The bath and shower were spacious. The smallest complete kitchen I have every seen was hidden in a standard-sized closet.

It was now getting near sunset. I was tempted to just crash for nap. But I knew that if I did, I might not wake up until it was too late to find dinner. There are few dumber things than sleeping away dinnertime in an unfamiliar town. I’ve done that and then had to go hungry until breakfast.

A hot shower revived me and I hurried out to see what I could find in the gathering twilight.

I took careful note of my lefts and rights as I wandered the deserted cobblestone streets. A light rain began. It was more like a warm mist.  In a sudden open square I came upon the remains of an antique fair. All but a few of the dealers were packed up.

Just as the mist began to assert itself as a genuine shower, I scuttled into Sergio’s,  a small restaurant with a tiny circle of outdoor tables under a wide awning.  There were no customers. By Italian customs, I was early for dinner.

I realized that all the day-tripping tourists had boarded their guide-tour buses an hour of so before my arrival. They had “seen” Lucca.

How was dinner in Sergios?

I grew up in Jersey City NJ at a time when the Irish, Polish and Italians were the predominant population. I loved my granddmother’s cooking, but like every other Irish person in town, when you went out to eat, you went to one of the many Italian restaurants. I do not recall there was a single Irish restaurant.

Irish and Polish bars? We had one or more in every block. But we all ate Italian.

That fact is preface to saying Sergio’s served me the most amazing lasagna I have ever had in my entire life, including the years in Boston, Chicago, San Fran and New Orleans.

Lucca is the birthplace and early home of Giacamo (Jacob, we would say in English) Puccini, composer of the most sublime romantic operas.  That’s his childhood home to the left of his statue.

If you take the sign behind him at its face value and do the math, you will see that he is also justifiably [...]]]>

Lucca is the birthplace and early home of Giacamo (Jacob, we would say in English) Puccini, composer of the most sublime romantic operas.  That’s his childhood home to the left of his statue.

If you take the sign behind him at its face value and do the math, you will see that he is also justifiably famous for having lived to 150 years old.

I hear there is something in the local red wine that promotes longevity. I certainly hope so. I consumed enough during my brief visit to add another 15 years to my own life. And I enjoyed every drop of it. Who the hell needs diet and exercise, when there’s all that wonderful wine?

Just as it is impossible to separate the singer from the song, Puccini and Lucca are forever joined. Each is the expression of the other.

The streets of the town are as sinuous and evocative as any of his arias.  Narrow streets amble along pleasantly but are suddenly opened up into a bustling square that resemble the opening scene of Act II of in La Boheme.

But unlike the wretched excesses of the Zeffereli version, there are no marching soldiers, no swarm of raucous children, no tranqualized donkey. Ah, but there is a toy vendor.  Click on the photo and see.

This is not a Disney version of Puccini’s home. If it were, visitors almost certainly would be confronted at every turn by loudspeakers pumping out Netsum Dorma. Locals dressed as Mimi and Rudolfo would be posing for tourist cameras ( ONLY TWO EUROS!!!). They would vie with a costumed ChoCosan in a lacquered wig and a rayon  kimono with a dragon on the back (ONLY ONE EURO!!!!).

No, none of that.

Not when there are the nightly concerts of Puccini’s music in the church where he was baptized and began his composing career. Yes, every night, as part of the festival that celebrates his 15o years

(Oh .  . . that’s what the sign means.)

The next morning, after a pleasant and varied breakfast (included), I checked out of Il Seminario.

To the left (click to expand) was the morning view from my window.

At his suggestion,  I left my bag in Paulino’s care with the intention of picking it [...]]]>

one of the famous old towers, complete with rootop oak trees

The next morning, after a pleasant and varied breakfast (included), I checked out of Il Seminario.

To the left (click to expand) was the morning view from my window.

At his suggestion,  I left my bag in Paulino’s care with the intention of picking it up mid-afternoon and moving on down the rail line to Pisa.

INFO YOU CAN USE – the room rate I’d booked online a few days ago was 90euro (roughly US$130 at the current rate). I had guaranteed the reservation with a credit card. As I was checking out I asked him how much of a discount could I get by settling my account in cash?

“Cash is always better. How about 60euros?”

Wow. 33% off. Eat your heart out William Shattner.

I was not going to try to bargain this down any further. I know The Right Price when I hear it. The possibility (probability is a better word) of a serious discount for cash is common in small hotels and inns all across Italy. I never once failed to get at least 10% taken off. Also, by paying cash, I avoided the currency-changing surcharges that the credit cards add to international transactions.

The bike shop did not open until 10am. In fact, few businesses in Lucca open before 10am. I circled the top of walls twice, stopping often to enjoy the ambiance. Then I rode down one of the ramps into the streets, found a bread shop and bought a half loaf of crusty whole wheat bread. A few doors away, I purchased a wedge of cheese.

I also bought a bottle of ice-cold water.

Yes, I know I bragged in an earlier post about the life-extending properties of the Lucca wines wine and how much I consumed. That was simply poetic license talking. I am not a teetotaler, but damn near.

Back up on the ramparts, I found a shaded bench and laid out my “peasant lunch.” (we should all be so poor and deprived).

At that point I realized I did not have a knife for the wedge of cheese. American ingenuity to the rescue. The edge of credit card did a nice job of slicing off the rind and making bite-sized chunks of the core.

I then fell asleep with my rented bike propped next to the bench on which I’d stretched out. My camera bag sat in the basket. While I cannot promise anyone that they too can get away with this, I am pleased to say that when I awoke about a half-hour later, everything was as I had left it.

As I continued to ride the streets, I noticed what others have pointed out. Unlike Florence or Venice (shudder), Lucca is a living breathing town, all of its own, that might miss the tourists if they disappeared, but surely would continue on anyway, if there were none.

The tourists are mostly day trippers. Their huge busses do not arrive until around 10am, dropping them in the plaza directly inside the main gate that pierces the wall. They  are mostly gone by 4pm. After they leave, the restaurants and cafes are not crowded as they are in Florence or Siena.

FYI – the tourist “offices” seen in this photo are private businesses, not the official government Italian Tourism Office. There is one outside the walls, close to the train station.

There is another in the center of Lucca, off Napolean Square.That one includes an Internet Cafe and a coffee shop that also sells snacks, postcards, etc. A private table in the same space books local events.

Either will make a hotel or B-and-B reservation for you, without a service fee and they have a generous supply of maps and flyers covering local events.

There is another TO way up in the far northeast corner of town. I never got there.

After my pleasant nap I realized that Lucca ia the “real experience” I was looking for. I went back to Il Seminario and told Paulino I wanted to stay over.

“Sorry, we are totally booked. But I will find you a place.” And he did.

“Lucca In Centro B & B” is on a quiet square a few minutes away on the bike. I think they have maybe 6 rooms or so, each named after a Saint. For the next night two nights I slept with St. Peter.

Nothing fancy. It has a seriously mis-leading web site. My room was nowhere near the luxury and appointments in the site’s photos. Had I booked it based on the web site, I would have been justified in feeling lied to by artfully deceptive photos.

But it was clean, quiet, modern bathroom, decent small breakfast included. Not air conditioned, but the fan was enough at this time of year. The free, unlimited and open WiFi actually worked without any of the multi-step login nonsense that so many other places have bought into (and charge outrageous prices for, as well). It was a place to sleep.

That night, there was a choral concert inside the walls of the city and it echoed hauntingly all around the area. By then I’d returned the bike but the town is so compact that I never needed it again. I timed my casual stroll from one side of Lucca to the other at just under 30 minutes.

There were many other musical and cultural events that bespoke Lucca’s rich heritage. Another concert I attended, one of the ongoing (every night of the year) Puccini festival concerts (17 euros), was excellent. It started early and ended at 8pm. I was able to go to dinner and then attend another (free) concert of modern religious music at 10pm.