A Day in Barga

I've been taking the bus a bit more than I thought I would.  It originally started with someone telling me that I'd save myself quite a bit of walking with my luggage if I took the bus from Florence to Lucca instead of the train as the bus stop was closer to where I would be staying.  Since then I've been hopping on and off buses and even purchased a round trip ticket and found the correct bus stop using only Italian--miracle of miracles there. 

While trains are obviously the way to go for long distances, buses afford you the opportunity to ride through parts of the countryside you wouldn't otherwise see, kind of like a bus tour but without the cost or the guide.   The ones I've taken short distances have only added a few minutes to the journey and the buses I've been on have tended to be a bit more on time than the trains (which have been 30-45 mins late).   There's also the added benefit that it's more personal-- a lot of people seem to want to talk to and help the lost looking americana on the bus.  I've met quite a few people and been given tons of great advice by helpful people on the bus.  

Luckily I've taken a liking to buses because I'd heard of the small town of Barga just a 45 minute bus ride north of Lucca.  The bus ride itself took me through small sleepy villages I'd never have seen otherwise and I gained an elderly Italian protector along the way.  

Sweet Gino was on his way to see his wife who is in an Alzheimer's house and spent his time sitting right next to me on an otherwise empty bus to ensure this unmarried girl wouldn't get lost. He was quite concerned that I was traveling without a husband. He wrote down the last bus back to Lucca and asked for the bus driver's personal phone number in case we missed the last bus of the day back to Lucca.   What's astonished  me is that the bus driver actually gave it and offered to pick us up personally and drive either of us back to Lucca if we missed the last bus.  Gino sent me off with a sheet of paper filled with names and phone numbers and quizzed me three times in both italian and english on what time I would come back to the bus stop.  

Barga is a little mountain town that looks exactly like what you'd expect a mountain town to look like.  After a week of crazy heat and humidity, the cool mountain air was definitely welcome.

I had a brief elated moment where I thought Italian was finally clicking as I understood about 75% of what a gent was saying to me, of course until I realized he was speaking perfect native english.  In my defense, he was speaking with a thick Scottish accent.   As it turns out, Barga is an Italian town with a big Scottish connection and with quite a community of Scottish expats--it's actually called the most Scottish town in Italy.  Since I shockingly didn't learn Italian overnight as I'd thought for a brief moment, I went with the flow and spent the rest of the day meeting other Scots and listening to my favorite sound of all.  Italian is a beautiful language but let's be honest here--it's no match for that fine Scottish brogue.  Unfortunately that was nary a kilt in site.

While there are many Romanesque churches in Italy, you have to admit that this one tends to even look more Norman than others.  I have a soft spot for the cold stone gray of Norman churches built after that whole 1066 thing.

The rest of the town though was all beautiful, colorful Italy.  Italians are masters at gardening. 

Maybe there was a wee bit more of the British influence here. 

Barga was a direct bus from Lucca and easily a day trip--just be sure to check and double check the bus schedule to find the last bus back.  The stops can change and just when you think you can read a bus schedule, you'll learn maybe it changes a bit.  Take heart that most Italians I've seen getting on the bus ask if a bus stops at a certain point just to be sure.  

My friend Gino sighed with relief as this single girl returned to the bus stop right on time.