The thing about the road to Montevarchi from Mercatale is that it looks so different at night.  I nearly guided a two car caravan through a small yet significant tunnel–the only tunnel that passes under the train station in Camucia that was obvious, but not meant for cars at all.  It would be an unusual mistake in the wide United States, but in Tuscany there are roads intended for all traffic that a hefty chicken walking side by side with another chicken might have problems with.

We ate last night with Bonci.  Hardly an interpreter needed, as all jokes are performed.  There was panzanella, finochiona, pane nero, strutto, pancetta, a caprese salad of fresh mozzarella, tomato and basil and the foccaccia-one with olives, one with cherry tomatoes from Sicily, and one with white onion that we watched the beautiful hands of Sig. Bonci, massage into life.