Venerdi 13, yes that is Friday the 13th. Our second trip to Arezzo, and the day the blue buses got their bad name. Up early and waiting at the bus stop in the piazza,we noticed a market was taking place. Then cars started parking where the buses usually came in. After a few text messages we found out that on Fridays (market day) the buses stopped somewhere different. Following directions, and asking in the Tabaccaio, we finally found the Friday bus stop (quite a distance) and got the blue bus an hour later than the one we had originally planned.
Finally some culture! In Arezzo, after coffee and a cornetto, we made our way directly to see the Piero della Francesco frescoes. And then a bonus for being anziana…..I paid only 2 euros for entry. The frescoes were amazingly beautiful, and although you can see them in the distance without paying for entry, we were glad we had gone inside. We sat down for a while to soak up the ambience and I spotted a strange old bell. ‘No Photography’ signs everywhere, but nobody said no sketching. Broni was ready to disown me, but nobody seemed to worry, and here is the bell.
I had decided to keep it a bit simple as far as sketching was concerned after longer complicated sketches the last couple of days, so over lunch I sketched some street lanterns that were nearby. Delicious freshly cooked pork in a bread roll with a much needed beer in the Piazza Maggiore.
We were having another big day the next day and decided to head back to our village early. Wrong. Still Friday 13th. Waiting for the bus, it didn’t come and a few Italians were also waiting. After much chatting about the timetables stuck to the wall of the bus shelter, it proved that they had changed on 11th September to winter timetable. It all got a little beyond the scope of my Italian and I got the impression that we had three quarters of an hour to wait. We went to a small park opposite to get out of the sun. An orange bus came and sat on our stop, but we catch the blue ones, don’t we? But when it departed, so had the Italians heading for our destination.
According to our outdated summer timetable, we now had one and a half hours to wait, but who knew? I couldn’t make head nor tail of the ones pasted up at the stop. We headed off to the station and caught a train three quarters of an hour later. Ten minutes to our village (half an hour on the bus) but then we had to find our way up the hill. Fortunately, due to the relocation of our morning bus stop, I had spied a bar half way up the hill. A long hill, so a long break and two refreshing beers and we could resume our journey home, arriving at 6.15, rather than our earlier plan of 2.15.