a day in Arezzo

Wednesday morning I need to return the rental car to Arezzo, so I decide to make a day of it. I get on the autostrada (have I learnt nothing?), but at some point I realize I must have missed my exit, and pull off in the small town of Foiano della Chiana. Yes, I missed my exit, but I can take this smaller road up to Arezzo, which proves, of course, to be a much nicer drive. Soon I see a cow up ahead on my left. But it's not moving. And next to it is a small horse. And a large mushroom? It's a fabricator of all those animals and crazy things you can buy for your garden. If they'd had a plaster highland cow, it would now be in a shipping container headed home.

I get to Arezzo, return the car, and stroll up to the main piazza to have some water and a pastry. It's hot. Only the tourists are moving around. I spend the next couple hours drawing and watching some little kids, who are immune to the heat, run around the piazza, reveling in the large open space. Once I'm done with my drawing, I realize that yet again I am smack in the middle of siesta. Maybe, since Arezzo is a slightly larger and more tourist-y town, some things will still be open.
I head over to try and see the Piero della Francesa frescos. There's a sign saying you need a reservation, uh oh. But when I walk into the ticket office, there's an American desperately trying to unload some tickets for the time slot starting right then! I buy one of her tickets and stroll right in. I'm feeling so very efficient with my time as I peruse the frescoed stations of the cross, which are great, by the way. Piero has the ability to make everything, even a battle scene, feel calm and well composed. But then he always paints one person looking right at the spectator, and so as your eyes move tranquilly around the scene, there's a sudden shock as your eyes meet.

The next train home isn't until 3:15, so I sit and have a Panzanella salad and read my book (who knew day-old bread could be so good?), which again, feels like a great use of my time. Unfortunately, when I get to the station, I discover that the 3:15 doesn't run during the summer. I have to wait for the 4:15. I kill an hour in the train station. Luckily my train is on time. Then I get to Terontola where I have to switch trains. My connection? Not for another hour. I go have an ice cream, I read about Lindsay Lohan's sentencing in the Italian newspaper, I'm beginning to understand why Italians all seem so good at killing time. Finally I get home, sunburnt from all my sitting around, but happy to see my husband and now sit around with him.