Pisa, Italy

Note leaning tower with flag in distance!

The first things that hit you about Pisa are (a) the smell (open sewers, which Matt warned me about), and (b) the flies. Regarding the latter, I actually had 3 good friends who accompanied me in turns on my free Sunday afternoon jaunts. But enough about that.

The conference dinner the night before had involved many drinks and a long evening, so my Sunday started at checkout time. I strolled up Pisa's main shopping street, via Italia, crossed the river bridge which landed me right into piazza Girabaldi, up Borgo Stretto and via Oberdan (or Borgo Largo, as the locals call it).

That, in sum, is tourist Pisa, my friends (sans Leaning Tower).


I did go off the beaten track and wander into a side street at times. In one of those inspired moments, I came across a hole-in-the-wall singing. What was unusual about this was that the singing was (a) in English, (b) a familiar song of praise, and (c) distinctly un-Italian. So I investigated. Turns out that I had stumbled upon what must be Pisa's only English-speaking Protestant church, run by a friendly Filipino couple, Paul and Mary. The entire congregation must have been Filipino, because the sermon was advertised in Tagalog, although I was assured that if I came for their service at 3pm - which, unfortunately, was also my departure time - there would be an English translation. It was a blessing, however, to have met fellow Christians in a foreign city.


It was lunch time, and I went in search of some good grub. Now, it must be said that good food in Italy is not hard to find. But specific places that you have been told serve good food are hard to find. I should have learned my lesson after my previous fruitless explorations of Rome's winding side streets.

I had been recommended 3 places - Vineria di Piazza, Al Ristoro dei Vecchi Macelli, Osteria dei Cavalieri. So I thought I would check them out en-route. First stop - Piazza dei Cavalieri, whose market stalls, though numerous, tried very hard to inspire. I wandered into via Frediano and counted the unit numbers until I found Osteria dei Cavalieri. Hoorah! First hit - it was closed (like everything else).

So I decided to wander even further off the beaten track to via Volturna, where Al Ristoro dei Vecchi Macelli resided and had been highly recommended by the concierge. The address given in all the guide books was "via Volturna, no. 49". My friends, I walked up and down via Volturna (which was itself very FAR AWAY from central Pisa but in a decidedly classier area) THREE times. No. 49, I can assure you, is a residential house inhabited by one Giuseppe Grotto, if the name on the doorbell is anything to go by. It is NOT, for all intents and purposes, Al Ristoro dei Vecchi Macelli.

Faint with hunger by now and feet aching, I decided to track down the last on my list - Vineria di Piazza, the supposedly student haunt. So I traced my steps back towards the centre of Pisa, waving hello to the Leaning Tower from afar on the way. The Vineria was supposed to be in piazza delle Vettovaglie, where the city food market was. Alas, my dear friends, not only were all the shops in the square closed, like very other shop in Pisa on a Sunday, I didn't find Vineria di Piazza, which would have presumedly been closed anyway.


Having tracked through Pisa for 2 hours now, and ravenous by then, I decided to go back to my hotel, make my way to the aeroporto, and grab a hamburger there. My heart was heavy as I trudged back down via Italia. How can you come to Italy and not eat?

Then, something wonderful happened. It was that wonderful familiar smell of cooking. I followed it, Pied Piper-like, into a side street off via Italia, into a hole-in-the-wall named Ristorante L'eti Chetta, happily allowed a pretty young waitress to seat me and give me the restaurant's only handwritten menu, some bread, olive oil, red wine, water, and basically let her feed me whatever she thought fit. This turned out to be something called "Filetto di Chianina", which the said waitress confidently assured me was "beef foot". A steak by any other name, juicy and chargrilled (charcoal!) to perfection - I was very very happy indeed, even left part of a bread basket for my friend the fly no. 3. If only I had found it earlier, I mused over my expresso. It was really a very good steak.

That, my friends, concludes my afternoon in Pisa. Oh, and the conference presentation went brilliantly, thank you!