Rome – Vitorchiano – Bagni San Filippo – Siena – Florence: 337 km

It’s hard to describe how happy I am with the warmth. It’s that stage of the year where the weather is warm enough to give the feeling that summer is around the corner, yet the trees are still baren, their branches still deprived of leaves, and the nights are cold enough that it warrants thick layers of clothes and a beanie. During the day however, it seems like I’m riding into spring. I’m even wearing shorts today! I can’t remember the last time I did. Probably Crete. I’m loving life, excited to be cycling again after a couple stationary days in Antalya and Rome. Tonight I sleep at Alessandro and Stefania’s.

A dirt road, barely wide enough to fit a small car, eventually leads me to a huge pink farmhouse. Once there I’m greeted with three big smiles, one from Alessandro, one from Stefania and one from Elizabeth, their Grate Dane. Alessandro and Stefania have been biketravelling for six (yes six!) years. They returned back to Italy when the world was closing down because of the pandemic. Now they live in and take care of this villa and its garden. Pretty sweet job, for this is a home of dreams. Situated in the Tuscan hills it overlooks the sloping countryside, horses running around in it. Inside everything is made from natural materials. We have lasagne for dinner and exchange bike riding stories and listen to their new favourite music genre; gritty underground gangster rap. For dessert we have home-brewed liqueur.

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It’s stealth camping time again the next day! I haven’t camped in Turkey because of the cold and the incredibly cheap ho(s)tels. But not before I push away the asphalt over the inclines and the along the farms. Every arbitrary village is beautiful, from its medieval architecture, winding narrow streets, crooked church towers to its historic bakeries and café’s. The sharp bitter smell of badly but traditionally made espressos around every corner. In Bagni San Filippo I camp next to hot springs in a forest. It’s a magical place where salt sediments have a formed a huge white rock and steam hisses from the ground. In the morning I bathe and start my day salty and crusty.

After another perfect day underneath the Italian sun and along the tall and skinny Cypresses that line the driveways to the villa’s, I arrive in Siena. The Piazza del Campo is breath-taking, it’s cathedral towering over the terraces, the tower’s slender shadow rotating with the sun. Back at the hotel however, I start feeling ill. In an episode I can’t explain I start sweating, puking and almost faint dizzily. All of a sudden it’s over. Feeling frail I eventually fall asleep worried about my state tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes and even though I feel weak I set out for Florence. Once there I take a Covid test. Negative. Sweet. With that knowledge I ride towards my Warm Showers for the coming two nights. Leonardo lives just outside of the city centre and I asked him if I could stay two days. I’d like to explore Florence. The reviews on his profile are mixed, yet mostly positive. The phrase ‘it was in interesting stay’ is used a lot. I decide to go in with an open heart and mind, I’ll try to embrace the strangeness. I’m not let down, because my stay with him is… well… strange to say the least.

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Leonardo is a man obsessed with times, schedules and hosting people. Maybe at some point he cared for the connections with the people he hosted. Now, after an apparent 3500 travellers hosted he seems more interested in them following his rules and rosters than he is in their stories. I’m expected to arrive between 17:10 and 18:45. When I do, I’m bombarded with anecdotes of other travellers arriving either late or early. He immediately asks me what I’ll make for dinner tomorrow. He has a rule that he’ll cook the first night, and his guests the second. No problem at all. But he expects multiple courses and wants to know if they’ll match and where exactly and at what time exactly I will do groceries. I tell him I will improvise. Not sure if he likes that answer. With his long hair growing from behind a receding hairline and white beard he reminds me of Darwin. He slobbers away his food like the animals his lookalike would’ve observed. He drinks his wine by the glass. With that I mean he doesn’t sip it, he chugs the whole thing at once every time. It’s uncomfortable to sit across from. To ease the awkward situation and focus my mind elsewhere I try to have a conversation with him. Which might be even harder than observe him eat. His answers are short and often a single word.  

“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Do you still work?”
“No.”
“Retired?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“University. Biology.” 

I give up. The rest of our dinner we have in silence. The next morning I come up with an excuse to leave a day early. I can’t take him and his ways, I want to explore the town and not be held hostage by his scheduling. When I tell him he seems to not comprehend for a moment. Maybe he things about the dinner that he’s not going to get. Then he explains me that guests who leave after 08:20 need to clean the room. It’s 8:30 but by now I’ll do anything to get out of here. Free as a bird I make my way to a hostel and start enjoying this beautiful place.