Saturday

Heading for the Cooking School [9-27-09]

On Sunday morning, I departed Monte Argentario, crossing over the causeway to the Italian mainland and setting out across southern Tuscany for the hill town of Arcidosso (“Arch-ee-DOH-soh”) -- the site of my one-week Tuscan cooking school.

With GPS mounted on the windshield, Arcidosso was easy to find, even in this hilly country with steep winding roads.

Let me say a few words in praise of this gift from the American military to the world of tourism. GPS “real time” guidance has expanded the freedom of travel like nothing else since the invention of the rental car. I have a Garmin Nuvi, but I know the other brands are probably just as good. Before I left Dallas, I downloaded the new European maps (about a 2-hour download to my home computer) and then transferred that data to the little Nuvi. Next (at my brother-in-law’s recommendation) I located each of my destinations in Italy on Google Maps, and for each such location I followed the Google “send to” process to get those specific addresses into my Nuvi. Each pinpointed address was then given an easy name to remember, like “Lucca Hotel” or “Vernazza Parking Lot.” Those names were automatically stored in my Nuvi’s “Favorites,” and the rest is history.

When I set out for Arcidosso, I picked “Favorites” on the Nuvi touch screen, then “Casa Innocenti” and “GO!” The British lady who lives inside the Nuvi (I call her “Rose” because she sounds like that character in the old “Upstairs-Downstairs” PBS series) begins to give directions (in addition to the screen presentation) for how long to stay on this particular country highway, how far to my next exit, etc. Sometimes Rose gets addlepated when I follow a clear highway sign that doesn’t match her recommended way to reach my destination. My rule is: “Highways signs, when clear and understandable, trump Rose, no matter how upset she may become.” When I divert from her path, she interjects, with a truly sarcastic tone of voice: “RECALCULATING.” I doggedly continue on the clearly marked course to my destination, and she all but starts waiving red flags: “RECALCULATING . . . TAKE THE NEXT AVAILABLE U-TURN . . . AND THEN LEFT TURN . . . RECALCULATING . . . CONTINUE 300 FEET AND THEN, LEFT TURN . . . RECALCULATING . . . “ I suffer her snobby tone long enough for her to realize, at last, that I’m on the right road after all and only took an “unauthorized” link-up she knew not of. Of course her tone immediately changes . . . as if nothing had happened . . . “Continue 13 and a half miles.” Peace at last. I wouldn’t trade Rose for anything. I know she’s trying her best, and that’s what counts. She can’t help it if she doesn’t know every last service road improvement recently installed by the Italian highway department. Even so, I have to admit a little relief when I finally arrive at my destination and get to hit her “power” button -- giving her some needed time off.