Orvieto and Siena. Past and present entwined.

From Florence we got a train and then a funicular up to Orvieto which is perched on a hill that is honeycombed through with Etruscan caves. We've rented an apartment that was owned by a cardinal in medieval times. Everything is on a grand scale, I don't understand why it was so cheap. The hall goes on forever. We settle in and go on a discovery tour.

I came here years ago with the husband because one of my favourite authors renovated a place here, Marlena de Blaisi. She wrote books about coming to live in Italy, falling in love with the food, and a man, as you do in Italy. I look for her on our walk but I don't find her during our stay.

It's so hot! We wander through the beautiful ceramic shops until the heat does us in and we go home to go out later as it begins to cool down. We've found a restaurant that specialises in truffles, so truffle pasta it is and thrown in is a a spoonful of delicious tiramisu and a free tour of an Etruscan cave underneath. I love that you can dine in this cave also. Everywhere we go in this city, there are signs saying there are Etruscan caves underneath that you can visit.

The next day we go to a palazzo that is now an Etruscan museum, full of amazing finds in the area. Then we visit the spectacular Duomo di Siena, with it's striped blue-grey and white marble exterior. It dates back to the 13th century, it's delicate ornamentation and gold intricate mosaics are exquisite, the interior with glorious malachite coloured domes framed by the striped stonework.

The next day, the daughter leaves for Rome and my sister and I head off to Siena. Every time we get on a train, my sister seems to attract men from Africa who start conversations about their lives and then tell us that Christianity saved them and then out comes the pamphlets. They target her on the way to Siena and on the way out of Siena, following us down the streets until I say that we're confirmed atheists. They nod and look sad and we're left alone.

We've rented another room in a beautiful palazzo made into a hotel. Every ceiling is intricately decorated with bird motifs. We settle in and then go to explore. I've just read a book about Siena and the plague that killed almost 50% of it's inhabitants in 1348. The city never really recovered after that and it feels slightly dark and heavy. We go to a restaurant recommended by the hotel. It's a place that serves Italians so we know it'll be good. Regulars are greeted by their names. We have the special of the day, funghi and polenta.

The heat surrounds us as we walk slowly through the tiny streets, looking in shops in the hope of air conditioning but there are usually only ancient machines at the doorways, enough to cool us before moving on. The Duomo di Siena is spectacular with a huge round window that reflects the deep azure blue of the sky. Inside are astrological timelines and every type of stone you can imagine, decorating the floor and walls in stunning designs.

Siena has a huge market day. If you're lucky enough to be there, visit it. The sister and I go crazy over the cheap linen dresses and wonder how we're going to fit them in our bags.

That afternoon we go to the huge square where they have a Palio. Twice a year, there's a bare back horse race here, comprised of ten representatives of the wards of the town who compete, dressed in the traditional medieval colours. The race dates back to 1482. Sitting in the square for an aperitivo, you can easily imagine the sounds, the smells and the dust kicked up. We sit near the fountain and are envious of the pigeons cooling themselves in the water.

These towns immerse you so totally in their history, that each step you take makes you wonder what sort of person walked there before you five hundred years ago. To be in Italy is to have a foot in the past and the present. It makes you feel supported and protective of it's origins, it's pain. hope and survival.

Porciano - Haunted houses and truffles.

We picked up a car and headed out of Florence. I hadn't driven in over five months so am slightly nervous but the daughter is fantastic at staying calm when I panic and she's excellent at giving directions, so all good.

We found our Air BnB eventually but the road to it was so tiny and my car was slightly too big to even make the turn into what we thought was driveway. We called the agent, who sent someone to guide us in a different way. By the time we got there, it was raining and the house, although glamorous on the outside, was slightly creepy internally. There were a few too many clown paintings and very sad, confronting pen and ink drawings of devillish activity. The one in my room I had to hide under the bed. There was an overwhelming smell of talcum powder upstairs and we chose our rooms with trepidation. The girls picked one bedroom, only to discover a chest with various old dolls and their body parts. It was so creepy, they backed out quickly and the sister bravely said she'd stay there. I took a back room with weird erotic, slightly possessed looking carvings on the ancient bed. We settled in uneasily.

A pool helped soften the blow of a house with many issues. The toilet in the girls ensuite leaked when flushed and there were blood-like streaks in the shower and on the wall. The kitchen had been moved into a back room where the sink kept blocking up. The stove had it's own idiosyncrasies of when it would allow heat and how much ,that had nothing to do with the temperature controls; there was no moka for coffee making (how was that possible in an Italian abode? It was brought to us a few hours later when we made a fuss, along with toilet paper, as that was scarce as well). The daughter took photos of the blood and leaking toilet, of the blocked sink and in the end we did get some money back as the toilet couldn't be fixed until the next day and we ended up cleaning the walls and mopping the floor.

The old lady talcum smell continued to haunt us at various times throughout the day so when the sun finally broke through, we tended to eat under the wistaria arbour overlooking the valley; the last of the mauve flowers perfuming the air.

We went to Vinci, Leonardo's home town; it was small and quiet, a tiny gallery dedicated to him. We took photos of ourselves, our faces stuck through a hole in a wooden Mona Lisa cut out - how very touristy!) and then made our way carefully back up the skinny curvy road with a cliff on one side. By the time I reached the house, 5.30 wine time had been moved to 1.30.

That night I made stuffed pumpkin flowers with ricotta and anchovies, we had turkey schnitzel and small but very sweet blood red cherries, in the arbour surrounded by pots of blossoming geraniums, lemon, apricot and Mirabelle plum trees, the fruit of which were still warm from the sun.

The next day, I braved the road again and we went to Pistoia, another small provincial town with Wednesday markets; interesting Florentine style churches, geometrically diverse on the outside, very unadorned on the inside. Unfortunately, too late, we discovered it was a town of funghi and tartufo, restaurants displayed their rich, perfumed ingredients under lock and key but we'd already stopped and had panzanella for lunch, (a summer salad made with hunks of rustic non salted Tuscan bread, absorbing the flavours of sweet tomatoes, basil and beautiful jade green olive oil) before we discovered the tartufo and porcini restaurants.

I made the gorgonzola pasta with pears and walnuts that night. It was full moon with an eclipse. We watched it rise voluptuously over the olive grove covered hillside and then stayed up to watch the shadow creeping over it. It suited the theme of the haunted Tuscan farmhouse. The daughter thought she saw a black shadow pass by her bathroom, the old lady perfume was overwhelming during the balmy full moon evening, a black cat was seen stalking some prey under the moonlight while the fireflies danced.

Later that night, we asked the sister, (who has a bit of a knack with dispersing ghosts to other locations) if she could move whoever it was onwards and upwards. Strangely enough, having told us that she felt that it was a lonely old lady who had lived in the house and that she was ready to move on, the talcum powder smell went - completely! We always were suspicious about the sister's ghost whispering powers but every time she did her thing, strange occurrences would stop. We're still doubtful but we're glad the smell has gone.

What a strange sojourn. None of us slept well throughout our stay. My sister had to make peace with the chest full of doll parts; the girls slept fitfully, I, at least, was bathed in moonlight and fanned by a faint breeze in my tiny room out the back but the weird paintings hidden beneath the erotically carved bed haunted me. We weren't sad to leave there when we left the next day on our way back to Florence.

Modena to Firenze. Walking where artists trod.

Both with terrible flu, the partner on antibiotics and me trying not to be, we head to Modena to meet up with the daughter and her partner; they're in between trips coming from Budapest, going to Croatia - as you do in Europe. We survive on aperitivo food as we're not well and we feel the gin in the Negronis would probably kill most bugs.

I proudly show off this beautiful city that has become my second home, it's stunning porticoes, it's classy inhabitants. Even the dogs are well groomed here, perched in a basket on a glamorous bike, with a diamond studded collar.

I am left alone over the course of the next day - the girls leave, the partner leaves to see his family in England. I breathe in the sudden space around me and head for bed with my flu as company. The next day I make my way back to my home base in order to get the apartment ready for it's summer letting.

There's clusters of tiny pears and apples on the trees now. Vegetables are growing in people's gardens, peonies, lilies, long grasses in the meadows, summertime. The lake has been dammed ready for boat races, the small town is getting ready for the annual migration of people coming from the hot depths of mid and south Italy, to the coolness of the mountains. I'm here only briefly because I'm meeting the girls and my sister from Australia in the next couple of days in Florence.

This is a photo that my friend Victoria took of the lake just after a storm.

I have a meeting to collect my permission to stay or residents visa. It takes me a day by public transport to get there and collect it but I am now official! I have an identity card to prove it. Very exciting. It's the closest I'll come to being Italian.

I spend some time with the sister-in-law watching Tempesta d'Amore, storm of love, (a German tv show that she loves), in between bouts of watching tennis; her slight height allowing her to stand and watch show after show, her elbows on a cushion on the table, surrounded by bills, mail, tablets and things that are always on their way to be located elsewhere. We eat frozen meals that she gets from the Eismann, who delivers meals to her door and I supplement with vegetables in between. I try to make out the tv show which is in Italian but it is too complex, as is the formula for all soap operas.

As usual, the leaving from this town is complex without a car. A taxi ride and chat with the lovely driver; awaiting the bus at a nearby cafe that serves amazing chocolate croissants and coffee; change at Venice for another bus trip that takes 4 hours to Firenze and deposits you out of the city centre; a train ride and finally I arrive and it's a short walk to Mr My Resort. It's housed in a 14th century building and they've accentuated the old frescos and added a few of their own. I have my own little courtyard but when I ask about a section of the place downstairs that is cut off by bars, they tell me that they kept people with the plague there, I wonder then how I'll sleep.

I walk to the Duomo, the square full of tourists and horse drawn carriages, Italians smoking, painting, being Italian. And as always when you come upon the famous Duomo, you have to marvel at the beauty and intricacy of the bands of emerald, pink and white marble that are suffused with the late afternoon light.

I then meet up with the girls who have found a great vintage style cafe, Simbiosi for cocktails and then we head for Indian. We're desperate for some exotic, hot food. The decor of The Royale is so over the top but that's what makes it great and the food is authentic!

The next morning I explore alone, (the girls are exhausted by the overnight bus trip from Croatia, cheap but long). I'm on a search for the oldest cafes here. Caffe San Marco 1870; Caffe Gilli, 1773, Cafe Concerto, Caffee Giubbe Rosse, Cafe Paszkowski. All kept with such love and care. After stopping at two for macchiatos, I'm on a caffeine high. The rest of them I just peek into or wander through.

I find Santa Maria Novella Perfumery store, the world's oldest apothecary. Started in 1221 by monks to help take care of outcasts while the convent was being established, the monks distilled rosewater, thinking that it could combat the Black Death. The first alcohol based perfume was made here for Catherine de' Medici in the 16th century, Acqua di S. M. Novella, which is still being made. It's incredible, I walk through history, it has it's own museum. I buy a small tin of health pastilles and wish I could buy Catherine's perfume but it's a bit pricey.

I meet the girls at the Mercato Centrale for the cheapest pasta. It's fantastic, lemon ravioli with walnut sauce.

Then we separate again and I go to the Uffizi gallery, I haven't been there since the daughter was ten. I'm going to see the Titian's, because, after all, he's a relative on the husband's side. And when the husband told me on our second date that he was directly related to Titian, one of the greatest painters of the Renaissance, it did have the desired effect of me agreeing to the third date! (of course, it wasn't all to do with the famous ancestor...). To think that my daughter has the Tiziano Vecellio DNA is mind blowing. I linger in the beautifully adorned halls of the Uffizi Palace that has been a gallery since the 16th Century but after a couple of hours I am exhausted.

I meet the girls for a drink at La Managere, which I highly recommend, their bitters look like bottles from an old apothecary shop. Then to Simbiosi again, this time for amazing pizza. Unbleached organic flour pizzas with gorgonzola and grated lemon; sausage on a truffle paste and nduja, tomato and burrata. Nduja is a Calabrian spicy, spreadable pork sausage meat that originates from the 13th century.

The next day, I wander again, looking at the many art details of this incredible city, on the ground, on the walls, everywhere there is beauty and much of it from 500 and more years ago. To walk alongside these buildings, along the roads where Michelangelo and Carravaggio would have walked with their canvases, their paints, is amazing.

I lunch at a beautiful cafe on spaghetti with crema di melanzane, a creamy eggplant sauce with toasted garlicky breadcrumbs on top and when I walk out I see a sparrow, contemplating a pasta nest as the perfect place to lay some eggs.

This is definitely my photo of the day.

That night we meet up with the sister and her partner who arrived from Australia.The partner is visiting his son in Iceland and is leaving us girls to go on a short road trip.