the bridges of Florence
16 hours ago
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Il giorno comincia (a day begins...)
Sunday Morning
Last night I proved once and for all that Atkins and I are not on the same wavelength. Limit the carbs? Are you kidding? Dinner was at a wonderful little place where you can order for your first course just “pasta.” The waiter will then bring you not one, but five different pasta preparations, in succession, so that after you’ve stuffed yourself with gnocchi con radicchio, you are given rotini garganzola, followed by spaghetti and eggplant, fusili with roasted peppers and conche with creamy zucchini. Then, as you sit there wondering if it’s appropriate to loosen any kind of attire that is suddenly tight around your girth, they bring out the grilled foods – steaks, or fish for the fussy fussy types who can’t appreciate a good Tuscan piece of meat (or an omelet for the real wimps, but I saw none of those).
*************************************************
This is my last day in Florence, in Italy, on this side of the ocean.
Predictably, then, there has to be an early morning walk and I mean early – like before sunrise. I don’t understand how travelers can resist this part of the day – it is stunningly beautiful. The streets are empty. Policemen and old, old people (who themselves cannot sleep and are therefore out and about) talk to you. [One elderly man, after asking the usual where are you from and how do you like Florence yada yada, told me that he really appreciated the American war effort – against the Germans during World War II.] It is a time where the streets are stripped of noise and traffic. A time when I am not distracted by anything or anyone. It’s just me, my camera and the handful of others who wake before the light becomes too intense.
**************************************************
Hey, if you rise before dawn and roll into bed after midnight, is that even healthy? When is the “getting rest” part?
Later. Lots of years for rest ahead.
You are such a show-off! Early risers have this “holier than thou” demeanor that is quite annoying!
They are “holier than thou.”
You think you got it all figured out? Did you even notice that there are more typos in your Italian posts than pigeons on San Marco? That photos are out or sync with the text? That one photo appears twice? That words repeat themselves as if the English language provided no alternatives? That dates are confusing and posts are partly in English, partly in misspelled Italian and partly in French (“tu es kuku” for instance)?
All that is true. I did not proof anything. My electrical plug got butchered, my battery kept dying and, most significantly, I never once got a speedy Internet connection. It’s all been dial-up, typically thanks to someone’s kindness. You want editing perfection? Go read other UW prof blogs. You’re not going to find it here, especially not in Italy. Ahhh, but there has been so much other “perfection” in each day! That, in essence, has been Italy for me – a blend of the irregular and the sublime.
Last night I proved once and for all that Atkins and I are not on the same wavelength. Limit the carbs? Are you kidding? Dinner was at a wonderful little place where you can order for your first course just “pasta.” The waiter will then bring you not one, but five different pasta preparations, in succession, so that after you’ve stuffed yourself with gnocchi con radicchio, you are given rotini garganzola, followed by spaghetti and eggplant, fusili with roasted peppers and conche with creamy zucchini. Then, as you sit there wondering if it’s appropriate to loosen any kind of attire that is suddenly tight around your girth, they bring out the grilled foods – steaks, or fish for the fussy fussy types who can’t appreciate a good Tuscan piece of meat (or an omelet for the real wimps, but I saw none of those).
*************************************************
This is my last day in Florence, in Italy, on this side of the ocean.
Predictably, then, there has to be an early morning walk and I mean early – like before sunrise. I don’t understand how travelers can resist this part of the day – it is stunningly beautiful. The streets are empty. Policemen and old, old people (who themselves cannot sleep and are therefore out and about) talk to you. [One elderly man, after asking the usual where are you from and how do you like Florence yada yada, told me that he really appreciated the American war effort – against the Germans during World War II.] It is a time where the streets are stripped of noise and traffic. A time when I am not distracted by anything or anyone. It’s just me, my camera and the handful of others who wake before the light becomes too intense.
**************************************************
Hey, if you rise before dawn and roll into bed after midnight, is that even healthy? When is the “getting rest” part?
Later. Lots of years for rest ahead.
You are such a show-off! Early risers have this “holier than thou” demeanor that is quite annoying!
They are “holier than thou.”
You think you got it all figured out? Did you even notice that there are more typos in your Italian posts than pigeons on San Marco? That photos are out or sync with the text? That one photo appears twice? That words repeat themselves as if the English language provided no alternatives? That dates are confusing and posts are partly in English, partly in misspelled Italian and partly in French (“tu es kuku” for instance)?
All that is true. I did not proof anything. My electrical plug got butchered, my battery kept dying and, most significantly, I never once got a speedy Internet connection. It’s all been dial-up, typically thanks to someone’s kindness. You want editing perfection? Go read other UW prof blogs. You’re not going to find it here, especially not in Italy. Ahhh, but there has been so much other “perfection” in each day! That, in essence, has been Italy for me – a blend of the irregular and the sublime.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Now that’s Italian!
Friday
In Assissi there are churches of every shape and hew: pink, yellow, striped, you name it. It is, in fact, a gorgeous little town, fresh and clean and restored (especially following the 1997 earthquake), ready to accept the pilgrimage of those in search of the St. Francis aura (and his remains) that is so evident in everything from the souvenirs to the frescoes on the thirteenth century church walls.
There is also a lovely little piazza where you can, after a cultural-artistic indulgence, sit back and contemplate the wonders of a peach and blueberry gelato. If you run out of cash, you can hop over to the ATM machine, slip your visa card right inside, get a printed receipt documenting your 250 E withdrawal (cash flows fast and loose when you’re vacationing) and wait and wait and wait… and watch the cash NOT emerge. What then?
I tried banging on the (closed for the day) bank door only to wake the lethargic guard who then fetched the signora in charge who reassured me that indeed, the international line hadn’t been working and so they weren’t able to pay out the 250 E. But, prego! I have the receipt showing that my account has been debited by this amount! A famous Italian shrug. Alright, alright, let’s negotiate the Italian way. Signora, I am going to go back to the US this Monday and I will surely find that I have $300 less in my account. Then what? Ah, she tells me, then my bank will write to her bank and they will straighten it all out.
Now I am not dumb. I know that the young teller in the little branch bank on the corner of Gammon and Mineral Point in Madison Wisconsin already got confused when I asked her to forward the down payment for the farmhouse rental. No way is she going to know how to get in touch with the non-English speaking signora in Assissi to straighten anything out. But I am told not to worry – the transaction probably never really happened! Paper? What’s a piece of paper? Go ahead, try it again, it’ll work this time!And so I did, and it worked and I am running on hope that she is right about the failed first transaction and that I will never have to do business with the bank in Assissi again. But you never know.
In Assissi there are churches of every shape and hew: pink, yellow, striped, you name it. It is, in fact, a gorgeous little town, fresh and clean and restored (especially following the 1997 earthquake), ready to accept the pilgrimage of those in search of the St. Francis aura (and his remains) that is so evident in everything from the souvenirs to the frescoes on the thirteenth century church walls.
There is also a lovely little piazza where you can, after a cultural-artistic indulgence, sit back and contemplate the wonders of a peach and blueberry gelato. If you run out of cash, you can hop over to the ATM machine, slip your visa card right inside, get a printed receipt documenting your 250 E withdrawal (cash flows fast and loose when you’re vacationing) and wait and wait and wait… and watch the cash NOT emerge. What then?
I tried banging on the (closed for the day) bank door only to wake the lethargic guard who then fetched the signora in charge who reassured me that indeed, the international line hadn’t been working and so they weren’t able to pay out the 250 E. But, prego! I have the receipt showing that my account has been debited by this amount! A famous Italian shrug. Alright, alright, let’s negotiate the Italian way. Signora, I am going to go back to the US this Monday and I will surely find that I have $300 less in my account. Then what? Ah, she tells me, then my bank will write to her bank and they will straighten it all out.
Now I am not dumb. I know that the young teller in the little branch bank on the corner of Gammon and Mineral Point in Madison Wisconsin already got confused when I asked her to forward the down payment for the farmhouse rental. No way is she going to know how to get in touch with the non-English speaking signora in Assissi to straighten anything out. But I am told not to worry – the transaction probably never really happened! Paper? What’s a piece of paper? Go ahead, try it again, it’ll work this time!And so I did, and it worked and I am running on hope that she is right about the failed first transaction and that I will never have to do business with the bank in Assissi again. But you never know.
Saturday
Highlights from this afternoon:
* Sitting absolutely still on the highway to Florence (the week in Umbria ended today), then moving back to the 100 miles per hour normal cruising speed, then sitting still again. For no good reason.
* Arriving in Florence and not getting lost in the maze of one-way streets.
* Discussing what is more important in a hotel room in Florence, the inside, or the outside? The inside, in my opinion, can be very simple if the outside opens up onto your own terrace with a view like this:
Highlights from this afternoon:
* Sitting absolutely still on the highway to Florence (the week in Umbria ended today), then moving back to the 100 miles per hour normal cruising speed, then sitting still again. For no good reason.
* Arriving in Florence and not getting lost in the maze of one-way streets.
* Discussing what is more important in a hotel room in Florence, the inside, or the outside? The inside, in my opinion, can be very simple if the outside opens up onto your own terrace with a view like this:
Friday, August 20, 2004
A day in Umbrian hill towns
Thursday, continued
Climbing up the Campanile of San Fortunato in Todi is one of those things that you feel you must do because you’re there and it’s there and it only costs 1.5 Euro. The view? Sure, it’s fantastic, but the views here are magnificent from every vantage point in this place. Having made the climb, I feel compelled to post a photo.
Climbing up the Campanile of San Fortunato in Todi is one of those things that you feel you must do because you’re there and it’s there and it only costs 1.5 Euro. The view? Sure, it’s fantastic, but the views here are magnificent from every vantage point in this place. Having made the climb, I feel compelled to post a photo.
-->I came to appreciate how few tourists there are in Todi when I went elsewhere in the afternoon*. In Todi, you hear nothing but Italian on the streets and in the restaurants. In the morning, the women and men congregate for their shot of espresso or cappuccino at the cafés and you can tell they are regulars – they get their drinks and pastries without having to put in a request. The shop-keepers speak only Italian. And they do you favors – in the way that people do favors in small towns that haven’t yet been worn out by the incessant demands made by visitors (like me!). The person in my favorite breakfast pastry place gave me some of their Illy coffee because I could not find any in town and I have a thing for it. And as I leave, they wont just say politely “buon giorno,” they’ll say “buon giorno, arivederci, ciao!” And (grazie!!) they’ll let me use their phone so that I can make my local call and collect to the Internet.
* Orvieto has perhaps the finest XV c. cathedral in Italy and so it deserved an afternoon visit. It also has perhaps the largest number of shops per square foot in any of the hill towns. And, not a small number of tourists. The most interesting were the religious groups – nuns staring at the ceiling frescoes of the chapel with such reverence that it almost made me jealous. To me, the figures depicted in stone and on the walls were a reminder of how grotesque and graphic the Biblical stories became for artists of previous centuries. Consider the scene from a detail of the church pillar (below). Apparently it served as a warning that hell, brimming with snakes and reptiles, was ready and waiting for the immoral townspeople.
* Orvieto has perhaps the finest XV c. cathedral in Italy and so it deserved an afternoon visit. It also has perhaps the largest number of shops per square foot in any of the hill towns. And, not a small number of tourists. The most interesting were the religious groups – nuns staring at the ceiling frescoes of the chapel with such reverence that it almost made me jealous. To me, the figures depicted in stone and on the walls were a reminder of how grotesque and graphic the Biblical stories became for artists of previous centuries. Consider the scene from a detail of the church pillar (below). Apparently it served as a warning that hell, brimming with snakes and reptiles, was ready and waiting for the immoral townspeople.
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