Hiking up Monte Capanne

The main event of our second day was to be a hike up to the summit of Mount Capanne, the highest point on the island. After another breakfast of stovetop espresso and bread with something smeared on it, we made our way up to the rendezvous in the town square. I'm a little fuzzy on where the path began. I remember walking up through the town and then suddenly being on a trail. No longer being a spring chicken, I was a little concerned about how well I would keep pace with the contingent of teenage springboks we were with. After the brief walk up through the town my right knee was already singing its anthem - a noise like a chicken being disassembled. Things went pretty well. The yowwuns were either deliberately slowing their pace or were distracted by the view often enough for me to catch up.

We took a wrong turn at some point, which was of little consequence except that we were able to enjoy views of the rocky valley to the east of the summit that we would otherwise have missed. As we ascended, Poggio grew smaller and smaller and became a little model village perched on its promontory below. The company changed as the climbers several gaits speeded and slowed - now Graham and Paul, now Mia and Julia. There was, thankfully, more camaraderie than commiseration - it was a pretty hardy bunch.

The beginning of the end of the climb was heralded by the sight of the snack bar just below the summit. We stopped for an aranciata and nibbles. The views were already spectacular - one could look east along the spine of the island toward the mainland beyond. On the mainland to the north I could see a white scar on a mountainside which I took to be the marble quarries of Carrara - subsequent Google-mapping research showed that to be incorrect - Carrara being much farther north, apparently. It was another day of changeable weather. The clouds were swiftly moving, casting shadows that raced up and down the valleys and across the stony peaks of the ridge. Looking down, one could see a village on the coast brilliantly lit by the sun, its harbour a deep blue and its beach a bright white in contrast to the deep cloud shadows around it.

Past the snack bar there was a helipad and a path leading beyond it to the true summit which was crowned with a small grove of telecommunications towers. We took turns climbing up on a rock that seemed to be the absolute (natural) high point of the island. Ben and Giacomo looked particularly heroic as they stood at the summit of Mount Capanne, surveying the Tuscan Archipelago as Napoleon must surely have done at some point during his holiday.

Back to the helipad. I couldn't help fantasising about seeing a black Bell 206 Jet Ranger, either from the Stromberg Marine Research Laboratory or from Knox Oil and Gas sitting on the faded "H" at the center of the concrete platform. Again, the scene was impressive enough without having to embroider on it. After some clowning around at the edge of the pad which looks, from above, as though it ends in a thousand-foot drop but really goes down only a few feet to a sizeable ledge below, we made our way down to the gondola station near the snack bar.

The gondolas were a LOT less scary-looking than they seemed in the hand-held video Carolyn had shown us a few weeks earlier on a visit to Wisconsin for business. I imagined them to be rusty rattletraps, but they and the rest of the equipment looked solid and well-maintained. I was happy to disappoint those of our party who may have thought that my occasional fear of heights would produce an entertaining display of anxiety. Paul and I managed our trotting embarkation with no mishap and I quite enjoyed the ride down the mountain. The gondolas were really little cages, just big enough for two or maybe three well-acquainted people to stand in. Looking down, one could see the rocky slope of the tramway passing below the boilerplate metal circle which formed the floor of the cage. Spectacular vistas were revealed as our little go-go dancing cage descended past rocky promontories. The town of Marciana, perched on the next hillside west of Poggio rose into view and remained visible between the tops of the trees which lined either side of the tramway.

Walking back to Poggio - St. Nicholas' Church

After an elegant (though I say it who shouldn't) dismount, we assembled on the terrace outside the snackbar at the base of the cable car run. The plan was to walk back to Poggio along the road. I wasn't too crazy about the idea, being reluctant to go on the Elban roads even in a heavily armoured military vehicle, but once we set out I was reassured - there was almost always at least a little space at the edge of the road or just on the other side of the guardrail in which to hurl oneself at the approach of a car. I found myself walking alone behind the St. Pierres whose progress was fitful owing to the profusion of interesting sticks and rocks and rubbish that attracted the attention of Nate. If anyone failed to hurl themselves over the guardrail in time to avoid a Ford Ka, I was determined that it wasn't going to be because I was in their way.

Some beautiful views of Poggio presented themselves during the walk. Time and time again, the deep forest canopy would open up as I rounded yet another switchback to reveal the town, its red tile roofs warmly lit by the afternoon sun. Rounding an inner corner of the road we came across the Napoleon Spring, nestled against the hill in a sort of leafy grotto. Here the residents of the community came to fill much-reused plastic jugs with water from this public-works project initiated by Napoleon during his stay on the island. As with the fountains in Rome there was something very romantic about filling a vessel from a glassy arc of water issuing from a centuries-old, fancifully wrought metal fixture, in this case a lion's head. Someone said something about research being conducted to determine the safety of the water which, apparently, contains unusually high levels of arsenic, something which I've been trying to cut back on. That wants looking up, that does.

Back into Poggio. From where the road enters the town, we needed to walk down through a few of the lovely sloping streets to get to the town square. Once there, we chanced upon Mamma and Michael O'Connor and other members of our party as well as much of the rest of the hiking contingent. We sat for a while in the aptly named "Dolce Vita" cafe. Life seemed sweet indeed as we enjoyed glasses of beer, chatted about the hike and that evening's plans for dinner at a harbourside restaurant in Marciana Marina while looking out over the spectacular view down to the coast from the terrace.

Upon returning to the villa, our Jim Kelly told us that the little church just outside the uphill side of the garden, Saint Nicholas, was a must-see. Mater and I decided to walk up for a shufti. The main doors were closed, but after poking around a little, we found that the little side door was open. It was indeed a very pretty little church. The interior is decorated in pale yellow with lovely ornamentation in white plaster. A glassed-in niche on the south wall contains a, to my mind, rather bizarre depiction of the Blessed Virgin shown holding in her hands her heart which is pierced with a number of nails. We were the only ones in the building which was absolutely silent except for the chirping of a few birds, one of which fluttered from cornice to cornice.

A rendezvous was set for the evening meal. We were to meet near the visitor information booth in the harbour and then make our way together to the wharfside restaurant at the eastern end of the marina. While waiting for a quorum, Jim St. Pierre and I fiddled about with our cameras, comparing features. Jim showed me several lovely pictures he'd taken with an 'accent color' feature which produces a black-and-white image with a single, user-selected color. I poked around in my camera menu and discovered I had some flavour of it as well. Thanks for that, Jim!

Dinner in Marciana Marina

I've had a wonderful life (not that I'm planning for it to end any time soon - touch wood) but if my life was an accent color photo of the kind described above, that night's meal would be one of the bits in color. The scene was too delightful to be believed. We sat at two (or was it three?) long tables perpendicular to the seawall under a canopy. During the course of the evening the light changed from a pale rose to a deep blue, the lights under the canopy getting warmer and more yellow. Course after delicious course arrived at the table - mussels, pasta with seafood, a local fish which must have given its life willingly, it was so tender and sweet. The company and conversation were delightful - it was lovely to have the opportunity to spend some time with Mark and Liz who told us about the rest of their trip which included time spent in Scotland and who gave us updates on their sons Matty and Jeremy. Mark and Jim and Paul and I got into a lively discussion about a problem-solving, brainstorming sort of reality TV show and what solutions we might come up with for a collapsible picnic table for lawn concerts. If memory serves, Jim favoured a Thunderbird 2-style, telescoping leg arrangement, while I was a proponent of a scheme involving an inflatable base.

The conversation, changing light, clinking of glasses, sampling of delicacies and watching of the lights of the harborside buildings dancing in the water came to an end and we reluctantly pushed back our chairs and walked back along the wharf. The consumption of gelato provided an excuse to continue the magical evening. We bought cups of nocciola, pistacchio and gianduja and ate them sitting on the edge of the round planters flanking the street next to the gelateria. Our conviviality was witnessed by a pale gecko which looked down at us from his perch on the stucco side of the building above the doorway.