The Angel of Poggibonsi

The Angel of Poggibonsi

          It's not that easy to get to San Gimignano, at least not if you don't have a car, which we didn't.  We were staying in Fiesole in the hills above Florence and relying on public transportation to get us about.  Using the Santa Maria Novella train station as our base we had already visited Siena and today was our day for the spectacular medieval hill town of San Gimignano.

          Every train, every train, that leaves Florence, stops in Empoli.  On the positive side, that's the one way you know you have taken the right train back.  And, nearly every train stops at Poggibonsi.  That is where we met the Angel. 

          The principal problem with public transportation is being bound by schedules; `not a big deal, but somewhat limiting.

          Poggibonsi is a principal crossroads in Tuscany, between the States of Siena, Florence and Volterra and the site of centuries of political conflict.  For us however, it was just the place to catch a bus to San Gimignano.

          While I speak a couple of European languages, (read, muddle through), Italian is not one of them, and Poggibonsi is not a hotbed of English language study.  So we emerged from the train station with no clue as to where we were or where we were going, just that we were closer than we were an hour ago.

          Across the street was a collection of blue, tourist-looking busses, the kind you see all over Europe.  This was going to be easier than we thought.  But it wasn't.  None of the signs said anything about our destination.  Though there were a plethora of busses, there were only a few drivers, who answered our simple query of "San Gimignano" with torrents of friendly advice accompanied by wild arm-wavings, none of which aided in our quest.  We thanked them all and wandered off in what appeared to be the direction they had indicated.

          I have been traveling in Europe on the cheap for four decades, and I'm pretty good at it but at that moment I was pretty bewildered.  Apparently, most visitors to the hill town do not arrive by way of Poggibonsi.  Our map was no great help, as nothing on any of the signs corresponded to anything on it.

          Enter the Angel.  We were approached by a slender, elderly man; white hair neatly slicked back, well-dressed, with a pleasant smile and engaging blue eyes.  We didn't understand the words but he was obviously asking where we were going.  We told him; he nodded and took us literally in hand, gently grasping our elbows and propelling us down the street.  He took us several blocks, in the opposite direction from which he had been traveling, and deposited us a local city bus stop.  Then, with a smile and a wave, reversed direction and returned to his original course.

          Sure enough, a bus arrived with San Gimignano listed among its stops.  It took a few minutes to get out of town, and then the road started up, and up, through miles of vineyards that produce the elegant wine, Vernaccia di San Gimignano.

          Once a small Etruscan enclave, the town was founded in the 10^th century, taking its name from St. Gimignano of Modena.  It is a stunning walled city of narrow streets, magnificent medieval architecture, and the towers.  Building footprints were limited to fifty-one feet by seventy-two feet so structures in San Gimignano tended to be taller than many other Middle Age towns.  Seventy-two stone towers were constructed between the 11^th and 13^th centuries, a social competition of the wealthy, though none could exceed the 165 foot height of the Rognasa, the Commune tower.  Today, only fifteen remain, unbroken or uncropped, salvaged by a restoration edict of 1674. 

          The city is remarkably intact despite years of conflict between the warring Guelfs and Ghibellines, and more recently the occupying Germans.  A Nazi plan to destroy the remaining towers was thwarted only by the rapid advance of American and English troops in 1944.

          While the economy is based on tourism, and I'm sure the summer crowds are huge, the city retains its personality.  We found the winding side streets delightfully quiet and unhurried.  We were frequently lost, but one advantage to a walled city is that you will eventually come to a wall that will guide you back.

          It wasn't an ideal tourist day, with intermittent, light rain and a cool breeze, but it probably served to reduce the throngs.  `Next trip we will plan to stay a few days but this time we had to find the right gate and the right bus to get us back to Poggibonsi in time for the last Florence train.

          It was dark by the time we arrived at the train station.  The schedule showed our train departing on Track One at 7:30 and the automated sign on the platform confirmed it.  It had been a hectic trip down from San Gimignano, but we made it.  We were curious as to why there were so many people waiting at Track Two and so few waiting with us, but the schedules and signs confirmed we were correct.

          And then he was back, the nice old gentlemen who had helped us this morning.  "Firenze?" he asked.

          "Si, Firenze."

          "Due," he said, pointing to Platform Two.

          I pointed to the sign above us, still announcing the train to Florence at 7:30.

          He shook his head and pointed to Platform Two.  "Firenze," he repeated and pointed down the track.  There was the headlight of an arriving train, and it was now 7:27.

          Several people on our platform darted across the tracks to meet the oncoming train.  No one was electrocuted, but we were wary, not knowing the Italian system and not wishing to be run over by the oncoming train.  We shot back into the station, ran downstairs, under the tracks, and back up onto Platform Two as the doors opened.

          As the train pulled out, we saw our friend walking along a pathway back to the town.  My wife opened the window and shouted, "Grazie."  He smiled broadly and waved.  We still weren't positive we were on the right train, but twenty minutes later we pulled into Empoli, and every train, every train, returning to Florence goes through Empoli.

          Was he "our" angel, or everybody's?  As soon as we were aboard he left the station.  My practical, linear, Capricorn side says it was just serendipitous coincidence.  But my wife and I both like to think it was something more.