Lucca was supposed to happen in April, with the Saturday of that long weekend landing on my birthday. Something came up, so we pushed it to September instead, where the Saturday turned out to be Cheryl's birthday. The plan stayed the same though. Four of us, five days in Tuscany, two of us running the Mura di Lucca parkrun on Saturday morning around the city walls. The walls were the hook. By the time we got there, though, they turned out to be just part of the reason the long weekend worked. Everything else was just as much the point.

Thursday

Arrival

The flight from Prestwick arrived at Pisa around eight in the evening. The queue at border control was longer than expected. We'd gone through the EES fingerprinting and biometric scanning before on a trip to Malaga, so figured we'd sail through on the new automated system. Instead the Italian staff were pulling everyone over for manual passport checking. They weren't using the system, it would seem, or they'd decided not to. The queue wasn't moving quickly. Nearly 50 minutes to get through border control, which felt like a lot at that point in the evening. That's how it goes in Italy. We got through eventually.

The Pisa Mover, the automated transit system from the airport to the city, was efficient enough. Karen's ticket didn't work on the first reader. She tried it again, same result. I was already through the barrier, watching, offering moral support from the other side. After a short but awkward moment, a thought occurred, 'why hadn't we tried a different reader?' There was a whole row of readers right there, so she tried the next one along and got through, and neither of us said a word about it. Modern technology.

The Pisa Mover dropped us at Pisa Centrale. Our hotel was only a couple of minutes away, which worked well for arriving late. We were staying in the city that night, too late to make the journey to Lucca. It was a cheap hotel, booked mainly because of the convenience and the late arrival. Quick access to the station the next morning was the main selling point, which made sense at the time.

First Night

We checked in, then went for a quick pizza. Salsiccia was the choice, which should have sausage on it. There wasn't much though. The topping turned out to be a suggestion rather than a commitment.

Back at the hotel, the room itself was fine. Pleasant enough, clean. The bed was another matter. Concrete would have been softer. The pillows weren't far behind. Booking the cheap hotel near the station for convenience turned out to be exactly that, convenient for everyone except anyone who actually wanted to sleep. We got what we'd paid for, which wasn't much.

Friday

Arriving in Lucca

We met Sandy and Cheryl at Bar Taormina (Map) in the morning, then took the 10:20 train to Lucca from Pisa. The apartment, just outside the walled old town, was hosted by Renata. She'd texted the day before about access arrangements. Airbnb said three o'clock check-in, but Renata let us in at eleven, which was perfect. We'd arrived on the train with luggage, and three o'clock would have meant wandering around Lucca for a few hours looking for lunch and somewhere to sit. Eleven meant we could drop the bags and settle in properly. It was a small thing that made a difference.

Renata was waiting at the apartment when we arrived with a proper briefing. She walked us through how the apartment worked, when the rubbish got collected, what to expect from the old town, and had a list of restaurant recommendations ready. The kind of practical help that saves you from wandering about asking questions. She knew the city, knew what worked, and wasn't shy about sharing it.

Once she left us to it, there was the minor negotiation about the rooms and which bathrooms went with them. It mattered while we were sorting it out. It didn't take long to decide, though, and that left us free to go explore.

Finding Your Way

Friday was the slow day where you work out where everything is. A coffee at a bar near Piazza Napoleone, a stop at the supermarket for water and other essentials, then lunch at Da Umberto (Map) on the same square. It was one of Renata's recommendations and the pizza was genuinely good. Worth noting, given Thursday's contribution. After lunch was for wandering and exploring the city. I'd been to Lucca before and remembered a bike shop somewhere in the old town. We found what looked like it, went in, realised after a moment that it wasn't quite right. A few doors away, round a slight corner, was the one I actually remembered, Biciclette Poli (Map). We noted it for later in case we wanted to hire bikes for a Sunday meander around the walls. Then we walked part of the walls back to the apartment, about half of the full loop. The rest would have to wait for another day.

Friday Evening

Dinner was at Osteria Parlascio (Map), bruschetta and cinghiali pasta (wild boar). The restaurant is set in the old amphitheatre, tables scattered around the ancient stones where you're surrounded by everyone else eating. We had wine, though Sandy and I were more restrained about it than usual, with the parkrun looming the next morning and some vague hope of a decent time. I had one glass of red. Sandy had none at all, and still managed to make me feel guilty. Karen and Cheryl just laughed at the pair of us and carried on regardless. Afterwards we found a wine bar, Ghianda Vineria (Map), and stayed longer than we planned, then walked back to the apartment.

Saturday

Parkrun and Breakfast

Saturday morning was the parkrun. I've written a full post about it if you want the details, Chasing a 2026 PB on the Walls of Lucca. But the thing that defined the day was that the results didn't come through until just after half six that evening. No amount of refreshing the app made them arrive any quicker, though we tried, more than once. The morning stretched into the afternoon and beyond while we waited. Post parkrun breakfast was at a café where the server, Happy Hilary as we decided to call her, had her own ideas about what we'd ordered. Ask for a cortado and she'd offer back 'macchiato?' as though it was the obvious clarification. Every order that came back was a different interpretation of what we'd actually asked for, as if she'd heard us say something entirely different. Her English and our Italian weren't meeting in the middle anywhere, and judging by her expression, she didn't see why four tourists walking in should be expected to make her day any better.

Home to shower, then lunch at Da Umberto again. By this point the insect bites had started making themselves known properly. Karen and Cheryl had real reactions, the kind that suggested they'd been specifically targeted by whatever was doing the biting. Sandy and I had a few bites each, noticeable enough but nothing serious.

The afternoon was wandering around the city, then a siesta. Dinner at Buca San Antonia (Map) was good but not great. The kind of place that was trying too hard to impress, service that didn't quite match the surroundings. Karen didn't want a starter, just ordered a main. The rest of us went for both. When our starters came, so did Karen's main. All at once. That's not how you time a meal service, and it set the tone for the rest of the evening. Honestly, the food wasn't bad. Pretty average really, nothing to fault, but nothing that stood out either. It was the service that was odd. The timing especially. You don't bring out a main with three starters. That's not how it works.

The Film Festival and the Phone

The meal done, we made our way out and stumbled onto a mini film festival happening across the old town. A number of bars had signed up to put on a scene from a famous film. We went into a wine bar that was doing Footloose, not because of the film, but because we'd been in the bar yesterday and liked it. The staff were good, properly knowledgeable about the wines they stocked. It was there, settling in with a glass, that Cheryl realised her phone was missing. She was certain she'd given it to me in the restaurant and was adamant I'd mislaid it. Sandy and I got dispatched back to Buca San Antonia to look for it. Nothing. Once we were there, we had the thought, 'why not just use Find My, or Life360 to track it?' Why hadn't we tried that first? Turned out the phone was back at the apartment. Cheryl never brought it with her at all. Bank that one for later.

By the time Sandy and I made it back to the wine bar, we'd missed most of the film festival. Which probably wasn't a loss. Cheryl and Karen were already onto their second glass by the time we got back, and the phone saga became a running theme of conversation for the rest of the night. The evening sorted itself out.

Sunday

Sunday started by not going back to the café from the morning before. Breakfast somewhere else was the right call.

The Quad Bike

After that, it was on to the cycling we'd been talking about for a couple of days, debating whether to hire individual bikes or a four-seater. We went for the four-seater, which I'll call a quad bike though I've no idea what it's officially called. It looked purpose-built for the walls, the kind of thing you weren't supposed to take anywhere else. Everything about it was unconventional. The controls were weird, and the brakes especially so, a push-pull action on the steering column, like a car's indicator stem. With four of us pedalling, the slight rise onto the walls should have been easy. Turns out the weight of the bike, with all of us aboard, had other ideas.

We spotted a café somewhere around the walls and decided to stop for coffee. The place was open and had table service, which seemed promising. We sat down, waited, looked hopeful, waited some more, and kept on waiting. Nothing happened. Eventually it became clear that nobody was coming to take our order, and nobody had any intention of doing so. We cut our losses, got back on the bike, and carried on. No coffee, no cake.

Lunch was at a family-run restaurant next to where we'd hired the bike. Reasonable without being anything special. Then on to Cafe Puccini for coffee and drinks. Then a hunt through the farmacia for plasters, because by this point Karen's bites had started blistering. The staff didn't even blink, which suggested we weren't the first tourists that week to turn up looking like we'd lost a fight with the local wildlife. We'd accepted the situation and were just managing it. Time for another siesta.

Da Pasquale

Dinner was at Da Pasquale (Map), a place we'd found ten years before on a previous visit. It had been excellent then and proved itself the same this time, if not better. Complimentary fizz on arrival set the tone for the rest of the evening. The service was great, and Pasquale himself, now acting as the sommelier, was fantastic. He asked what kinds of wines we liked, and when Karen said she liked Gavi, he thought for a moment, then said, 'I think I have one bottle of Gavi left. It's from a friend who makes it. Give me a minute,' and off he went to his collection. He came back with a bottle that Karen and Cheryl really enjoyed. Sandy and I shared a light red, a local Tuscan variety he'd also recommended. Pasquale clearly knows his wine. The wine menu alone is huge.

The dinner itself lived up to the wine recommendations. I had rabbit for my main, which was exceptional. Karen's veal was just as good. I honestly couldn't tell you what Sandy and Cheryl had. I was enjoying my rabbit too much to notice anyone else's plate. After the mains, we were offered a free glass of meloncello, think lemoncello, but made with melons. Yes, fantastic. Amaretti tart for dessert, and then four cannoli turned up as well. It was the best meal of the weekend, by quite a margin.

By evening Lucca had shut down completely. The restaurants were calling it a night, the bars too. It's what Sundays are like here, not at the coast, not in a city that stays open, just a town that closes its doors. We walked home through streets that had gone quiet.

Monday

The Morning They Left

Cheryl and Sandy were leaving on Monday. Karen woke up feeling unwell. We stayed in at the apartment and let them go into town for breakfast on their own. They needed to get away, and we weren't really going anywhere. Giving them that time before they left worked for all of us. The plan was to walk Sandy and Cheryl to the station and see them off to Pisa, then catch a train to Montecatini ourselves. Karen wasn't feeling up to it though, so we ditched that idea and stayed in the apartment instead. Montecatini would still be there another time; the bites, it turned out, were not going anywhere either. Once she felt better we ventured out. Lunch was simple local brunch stuff in the square that also houses the Puccini museum. From there it was on to wandering around the walls again. The city's the kind of place that doesn't get worse the more you walk around.

Da Rosolo

Dinner was at Da Rosolo (Map), another place we'd found on that previous visit. I remembered it specifically for the pappardelle al cinghiale, yep, wild boar again, so I ordered it again. It was just as good as I remembered. Exactly what we needed that night. Simple but delicious local cooking. We had an early night because the travel home was coming in the morning.

Tuesday

Getting to the Airport

Travel days are always the worst day. We left the apartment at ten, took the train to Pisa, then the Pisa Mover to the airport. This time the tickets worked.

Everything moved smoothly until we tried to go through security. Our boarding passes showed as not yet authorised. Turns out the system controls access until two and a half hours before your flight. Red and green lights on the departures board, telling you when you're allowed through. First time I'd seen that. Someone, somewhere, is very proud of that system.

Security was busy but the queue moved, so we killed time with a pizza and a wander through the shops before the flight. No dramas on the way home, and through border control at Prestwick with just a small queue moving at a decent pace. That's the great bit about a regional airport. One flight in, so the usual chaos didn't happen.

Home

We'd parked the car at the airport, so it was just a case of finding it again. Prestwick's car park isn't exactly sprawling, so that didn't take long, then twenty minutes and we were home. Hard to complain about having an airport that close. By dinner we were back, and that was that.

The Bites

Every day someone discovered a new bite. By the end of the trip we'd catalogued them properly. Karen and Cheryl had the real reaction, the kind where the bites were becoming a feature rather than a detail. Sandy and I got away with a few, noticeable enough but not life-changing.

It's one of those things about travel in southern Europe in September. The restaurants were excellent. The bites were not. The walls were perfect. The bed on the first night was not concrete, but it may as well have been. Lucca was worth the trip for the walls alone.

We'll go back one day. Possibly with better accommodation in Pisa, definitely with bug spray.