Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 211
April 17, 2015
Cinque Terre - heaven
We are here in Vernazza, one of five fishing towns clinging to the cliffs of Cinque Terre on the coast of western Italy.
Sad to say goodbye to Florence this morning, in the damp morning light. I told the nice guy at my little hotel I'd write about it in my blog, as I already have several times: Hotel Relais Il Cestello - highly recommended. BK and I rode for two and some hours on the milk run, stopping at every stop, to La Spezia. We passed Carrera with its huge marble quarries, giant chunks of white rock - as Bruce said, "Michelangelo spent a lot of time in Carrera." We had lunch at the train station waiting for the next train - it was raining, discouraging - then on to Vernazza. At one stop, forty Japanese tourists in a tour group got on, and when the train windows finally showed us riding beside the sea, they all went, "AAAAh" at once.
In Vernazza, we found our landlady who gave us the key to the Airbnb place Bruce had booked, found the place, actually got inside, made a list of what was missing and needed and went back to explore the town. I said to Bruce, it's not actually raining right now, let's just start one of the trails to see what it's like, so we followed the sign to Corniglia to the south and started to climb. And climb.
And somehow we just kept going, eventually, even though the sky was heavy and dark and it threatened to rain. And then there was more light and even a bit of sun, and incredible views of the sea and Vernazza behind us, and we met a few others on the trail - not many, because the weather was so iffy - and we just kept going. An hour and a half later, after several almost vertical climbs - up up up to the heavens and then along and then down down and down - we arrived in Corniglia. A woman on the trail had told us about a place that made great crepes served with fresh lemon juice, which my mother used to make for us, and we found it and dug in. The taste of home! Lemons falling from the trees everywhere here. Explored the town and then headed down a million stairs to the train station for the 40 minute wait, staring at the sea, to get back. An hour and a half up and downhill to get there - a two minute train ride back.
We bought groceries - muesli and milk for breakfast, wine and hot pizza and focaccia for dinner - and made the final climb of the day back to the flat, which is at the uppermost edge of town. Now we are both computering. I am frustrated because I can receive email but not send any out, for some reason that even Bruce can't figure out. And at 8 p.m. I'm in bed already, because the living room here is Bruce's bedroom and mostly because my legs @#$# HURT and I don't want to move again. Today's menu: corn flakes, croissant and white bun for breakfast, the only things served by the hotel; sandwich at the train station for lunch; lemon crepe for snack; foccacia for supper. Carb loading, Italian style.
We were so lucky with the weather. If the predicted thunderstorm had started while we were hiking, it would not have been fun; as it was, many of the steps were slippery with mud. But it was a magnificent hike. More anon.
Definitely click to enlarge!
Vernazza. We are on the pier, looking back.
Beginning the climb.
Still dubious, but it's so pretty.
Many wildflowers on the trail.
Almost sunny for a minute or two. Monterosso, the next town to the north, in the distance.
Oh god, we'd moan. More stairs.
Looking back.
Ah - our first sight of Corniglia.
Closer.
We survive and arrive - here were lemon crepes. Divine.
The stairs down down to the train station (pictured in the centre) passed by a patch of lilies.
Sad to say goodbye to Florence this morning, in the damp morning light. I told the nice guy at my little hotel I'd write about it in my blog, as I already have several times: Hotel Relais Il Cestello - highly recommended. BK and I rode for two and some hours on the milk run, stopping at every stop, to La Spezia. We passed Carrera with its huge marble quarries, giant chunks of white rock - as Bruce said, "Michelangelo spent a lot of time in Carrera." We had lunch at the train station waiting for the next train - it was raining, discouraging - then on to Vernazza. At one stop, forty Japanese tourists in a tour group got on, and when the train windows finally showed us riding beside the sea, they all went, "AAAAh" at once.
In Vernazza, we found our landlady who gave us the key to the Airbnb place Bruce had booked, found the place, actually got inside, made a list of what was missing and needed and went back to explore the town. I said to Bruce, it's not actually raining right now, let's just start one of the trails to see what it's like, so we followed the sign to Corniglia to the south and started to climb. And climb.
And somehow we just kept going, eventually, even though the sky was heavy and dark and it threatened to rain. And then there was more light and even a bit of sun, and incredible views of the sea and Vernazza behind us, and we met a few others on the trail - not many, because the weather was so iffy - and we just kept going. An hour and a half later, after several almost vertical climbs - up up up to the heavens and then along and then down down and down - we arrived in Corniglia. A woman on the trail had told us about a place that made great crepes served with fresh lemon juice, which my mother used to make for us, and we found it and dug in. The taste of home! Lemons falling from the trees everywhere here. Explored the town and then headed down a million stairs to the train station for the 40 minute wait, staring at the sea, to get back. An hour and a half up and downhill to get there - a two minute train ride back.
We bought groceries - muesli and milk for breakfast, wine and hot pizza and focaccia for dinner - and made the final climb of the day back to the flat, which is at the uppermost edge of town. Now we are both computering. I am frustrated because I can receive email but not send any out, for some reason that even Bruce can't figure out. And at 8 p.m. I'm in bed already, because the living room here is Bruce's bedroom and mostly because my legs @#$# HURT and I don't want to move again. Today's menu: corn flakes, croissant and white bun for breakfast, the only things served by the hotel; sandwich at the train station for lunch; lemon crepe for snack; foccacia for supper. Carb loading, Italian style.
We were so lucky with the weather. If the predicted thunderstorm had started while we were hiking, it would not have been fun; as it was, many of the steps were slippery with mud. But it was a magnificent hike. More anon.
Definitely click to enlarge!
Vernazza. We are on the pier, looking back.
Beginning the climb.
Still dubious, but it's so pretty.
Many wildflowers on the trail.
Almost sunny for a minute or two. Monterosso, the next town to the north, in the distance.
Oh god, we'd moan. More stairs.
Looking back.
Ah - our first sight of Corniglia.
Closer.
We survive and arrive - here were lemon crepes. Divine. 
The stairs down down to the train station (pictured in the centre) passed by a patch of lilies.
April 16, 2015
a tribute to Bruce
And so it is - dark clouds and rain this morning, as we head off to a spot famous for its hikes and boat rides to see the view. But as I just wrote to Bruce, our sunny dispositions will get us through. How lucky we've been so far with the weather - it has been perfect. Not a complaint. My hotel was wonderful - very small, inexpensive and unpretentious, and the quiet location far away from the heaving mass of central Florence. I loved crossing the river at night and in the morning, seeing those bridges, the magnificent skyline, the crowds at a distance, the rowers on the Arno. I have loved everything about my stay here.
And I am ready to go home. One more week and a bit. Students are sending essays for me to edit for the next So True reading May 31, and both Ryerson and U of T classes are a go - hard to believe that I start teaching the week after my return. I instant message with Anna most nights, she sends daily photos and videos of Booboo, and through FB I keep up with lots of friends. Remember when travelling meant actually leaving home?
Now to close the behemoth bag and drag it through the narrow cobbled streets to the train station. More than anything, this week has been a tribute to friendship, to kind friends, to one very kind, interesting, thoughtful friend, my Bruce, a true soulmate. Not only our initials are the same; we share thoughts and feelings about many things. Not everything - we do spend money differently, and I have had it with virgins and dead Christs, no matter how skillfully painted, tho' BK never tires. But in the fundamentals, we are linked.
He gives to us all the incredible gift of his time and expertise. Luckily he comes every year to Toronto, and there's always a bedroom for him, and a hot meal or two. It's the only way I can repay what he gives. Well, that, and constant exclamations of joy.
And I am ready to go home. One more week and a bit. Students are sending essays for me to edit for the next So True reading May 31, and both Ryerson and U of T classes are a go - hard to believe that I start teaching the week after my return. I instant message with Anna most nights, she sends daily photos and videos of Booboo, and through FB I keep up with lots of friends. Remember when travelling meant actually leaving home?
Now to close the behemoth bag and drag it through the narrow cobbled streets to the train station. More than anything, this week has been a tribute to friendship, to kind friends, to one very kind, interesting, thoughtful friend, my Bruce, a true soulmate. Not only our initials are the same; we share thoughts and feelings about many things. Not everything - we do spend money differently, and I have had it with virgins and dead Christs, no matter how skillfully painted, tho' BK never tires. But in the fundamentals, we are linked.
He gives to us all the incredible gift of his time and expertise. Luckily he comes every year to Toronto, and there's always a bedroom for him, and a hot meal or two. It's the only way I can repay what he gives. Well, that, and constant exclamations of joy.
How Lucca can you get...
Click to enlarge
The end of civilization as we know it - the perfect menu, in Italy!
Lucca. Need I say more?
On a side street - an abandoned fresco and bike
The main piazza - once a Roman amphitheatre
My companions at lunch - we met Bruce's Perugian friend Giuliano and his Irish friend Ken, who were travelling nearby. G. ordered our lunch, consulting with the waiter about Luccan specialties. Needless to say - delicioso. And molto.
It's really too bad people here don't care at all about beauty and nature.
A statue under repair - and about to take a bath
My companion in the foreground checking our route, as he does so wonderfully. We separated from Giuliano and Ken because Ken wanted to look in antique shops and Bruce wanted to look at art in churches. And I - a shop or two. I bought a plastic cover for my bicycle seat, covered with roses.
Puccini was born in Lucca. Here's one musician with another. We went to the Puccini museum. Bruce more interested than I. As we walked later, a young woman was standing in a doorway practicing singing Nessun dorma beautifully - a sign behind her: Audizione.
The usual pageantry in the streets. Not sure why, but who cares?
These plane trees are right out of Harry Potter.
A crowd of Italian schoolchildren gathered around the statue learning about Puccini. What a patrimony these kids have inherited.
Lucca is as beautiful as it gets - one gorgeous vista, one sudden huge piazza, one narrow glorious street lined with ancient buildings after another. If we'd had more time, the thing to do there is rent a bicycle. The town reminded me of Siena, with its pedestrian streets in the centre - though of course cars and motorbikes go down them anyway. A stunningly lovely city.
The ride home was something of an ordeal, however. We got to the station in plenty of time, as Bruce and I always do - but then the train was delayed. Finally arrived nearly an hour late, and then they announced that they'd changed it to the milk run home, making every stop. B and I were going to go for dinner on arrival, but it was so late we just went home. I'm going to dine on an orange and some cashews. And no wine! It'll do me good. We leave tomorrow morning for Cinque Terre - Bruce just for the weekend, me on the next phase of my journey.
Florence - how lucky I am not just to be here, but to have a friend who knows the city so well. As perhaps I've said before. On the next bit, we're both new. An adventure awaits. Onward. Oh - and thunderstorms predicted.
The end of civilization as we know it - the perfect menu, in Italy!
Lucca. Need I say more? 
On a side street - an abandoned fresco and bike
The main piazza - once a Roman amphitheatre
My companions at lunch - we met Bruce's Perugian friend Giuliano and his Irish friend Ken, who were travelling nearby. G. ordered our lunch, consulting with the waiter about Luccan specialties. Needless to say - delicioso. And molto.
It's really too bad people here don't care at all about beauty and nature. 
A statue under repair - and about to take a bath
My companion in the foreground checking our route, as he does so wonderfully. We separated from Giuliano and Ken because Ken wanted to look in antique shops and Bruce wanted to look at art in churches. And I - a shop or two. I bought a plastic cover for my bicycle seat, covered with roses. 
Puccini was born in Lucca. Here's one musician with another. We went to the Puccini museum. Bruce more interested than I. As we walked later, a young woman was standing in a doorway practicing singing Nessun dorma beautifully - a sign behind her: Audizione.
The usual pageantry in the streets. Not sure why, but who cares?
These plane trees are right out of Harry Potter.
A crowd of Italian schoolchildren gathered around the statue learning about Puccini. What a patrimony these kids have inherited.Lucca is as beautiful as it gets - one gorgeous vista, one sudden huge piazza, one narrow glorious street lined with ancient buildings after another. If we'd had more time, the thing to do there is rent a bicycle. The town reminded me of Siena, with its pedestrian streets in the centre - though of course cars and motorbikes go down them anyway. A stunningly lovely city.
The ride home was something of an ordeal, however. We got to the station in plenty of time, as Bruce and I always do - but then the train was delayed. Finally arrived nearly an hour late, and then they announced that they'd changed it to the milk run home, making every stop. B and I were going to go for dinner on arrival, but it was so late we just went home. I'm going to dine on an orange and some cashews. And no wine! It'll do me good. We leave tomorrow morning for Cinque Terre - Bruce just for the weekend, me on the next phase of my journey.
Florence - how lucky I am not just to be here, but to have a friend who knows the city so well. As perhaps I've said before. On the next bit, we're both new. An adventure awaits. Onward. Oh - and thunderstorms predicted.
April 15, 2015
the giant museum
Here's a NYT story about a man who wanted to fix his sewer pipe and ended up with his own museum: typical. In Cortona, Bruce and I went into what we thought was a small local museum, and twenty rooms full of treasure later, we were desperate to get out. This entire country is a museum. In the best sense of the word.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/15/world/europe/centuries-of-italian-history-are-unearthed-in-quest-to-fix-toilet.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1409232722000&bicmet=1419773522000
BK and I are solo this evening because we'll be together non-stop for the next four days, so this afternoon and evening I strolled around this marvel of a city again. The weather today was perfect - sunny, breezy. I had a rest in the quiet hotel, then changed into the fancy lightweight sandals I'd brought for just such an occasion, when it was warm and I wanted to look good. Set out. After a block, I went back and changed into my Nikes with the extra padded insole. With this much walking, and on very uneven cobblestones and pavement, nice-looking shoes are out of the question.
Whereas for the local women, there's no problem. I guess they don't really walk much. Most Italian women older than 15 seem to wear a uniform of tight jeans with careful rips, sparkly tops, lots of hair and extremely high-heeled shoes. Now I understand where Italian fashion and especially their crazy shoes come from - women actually wear them here, on these perilous streets. Whereas even in comfy but not padded sandals, I lasted only a block. My legs and feet are walked out.
After changing, I set out again in the late afternoon sun - the bridges packed with Italians and tourists, taking in the vista - to San Trinita, to see a spectacular painting that needs a special light that wasn't working when Bruce and I were there - the Adoration of the Magi by Ghirlandaio. The most beautiful Mary and baby, but especially - yes - the cow and the donkey, even more beautiful.
On the other hand, I've had it with countless paintings of a man being tortured to death, dying in agony on a cross. Enough. What a central image for a faith. Not to mention graphic images of the other martyred saints. Enough blood pouring out and savage imaginings of hell. With such grotesque but powerful imagery, I can see why this church has kept so many captive for so long. But I hate it.
I walked and walked with the vast crowds, taking in the evening sun, window shopping, trying not to be killed by bicycles, motorcycles, cars and busses. Finally took myself yet again to my favourite Florentine spot in Piazza San Spirito - the place where I've now come 3 times for a glass of wine and free aperitivo food.
You can sit there forever under the trees with your glass and your plate, as the sun sets and people come with their children and dogs to let them loose in the beautiful square. Passed on the walk home a little shop, one of many:
Now in my room, getting packed. Tomorrow we go early to Lucca for the day, not just to explore but to meet Bruce's Italian musician friend Giuliano, who's coming specially to see us. And Friday, I check out and we go to Cinque Terre for three days. Thunderstorms predicted - keep your fingers crossed for us.
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/15/world/europe/centuries-of-italian-history-are-unearthed-in-quest-to-fix-toilet.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&bicmp=AD&bicmlukp=WT.mc_id&bicmst=1409232722000&bicmet=1419773522000
BK and I are solo this evening because we'll be together non-stop for the next four days, so this afternoon and evening I strolled around this marvel of a city again. The weather today was perfect - sunny, breezy. I had a rest in the quiet hotel, then changed into the fancy lightweight sandals I'd brought for just such an occasion, when it was warm and I wanted to look good. Set out. After a block, I went back and changed into my Nikes with the extra padded insole. With this much walking, and on very uneven cobblestones and pavement, nice-looking shoes are out of the question.
Whereas for the local women, there's no problem. I guess they don't really walk much. Most Italian women older than 15 seem to wear a uniform of tight jeans with careful rips, sparkly tops, lots of hair and extremely high-heeled shoes. Now I understand where Italian fashion and especially their crazy shoes come from - women actually wear them here, on these perilous streets. Whereas even in comfy but not padded sandals, I lasted only a block. My legs and feet are walked out.
After changing, I set out again in the late afternoon sun - the bridges packed with Italians and tourists, taking in the vista - to San Trinita, to see a spectacular painting that needs a special light that wasn't working when Bruce and I were there - the Adoration of the Magi by Ghirlandaio. The most beautiful Mary and baby, but especially - yes - the cow and the donkey, even more beautiful.
On the other hand, I've had it with countless paintings of a man being tortured to death, dying in agony on a cross. Enough. What a central image for a faith. Not to mention graphic images of the other martyred saints. Enough blood pouring out and savage imaginings of hell. With such grotesque but powerful imagery, I can see why this church has kept so many captive for so long. But I hate it.
I walked and walked with the vast crowds, taking in the evening sun, window shopping, trying not to be killed by bicycles, motorcycles, cars and busses. Finally took myself yet again to my favourite Florentine spot in Piazza San Spirito - the place where I've now come 3 times for a glass of wine and free aperitivo food.
You can sit there forever under the trees with your glass and your plate, as the sun sets and people come with their children and dogs to let them loose in the beautiful square. Passed on the walk home a little shop, one of many:
Now in my room, getting packed. Tomorrow we go early to Lucca for the day, not just to explore but to meet Bruce's Italian musician friend Giuliano, who's coming specially to see us. And Friday, I check out and we go to Cinque Terre for three days. Thunderstorms predicted - keep your fingers crossed for us.
more masterpieces and another five pounds
Click to enlarge
A miscellaneous store in a little Florentine street. Too bad I can't pick up a statue or two for the garden.
The Medici Library - the books were kept under the desks, chained to them. Below, the library staircase designed in 1524 by Michelangelo. Grey sandstone. Very stern and angular.
From a display of the history of writing - a divorce decree from 569 AD. My people - writing on clay, on papyrus, on parchment rolls, on flattened deerskin hides, and on a strange new material "made from macerated rags" - paper.
San Lorenzo - the Brunelleschi chapel. He and Donatello were friends until Donatello made the round inset decorations that the great architect of domes hated. Bruce said they didn't speak to each other for years.
A page by Fra Angelico, who started his artistic career as a scribe, lettering and painting books.
The famous Fra Angelico annunciation in San Marco. Very plain, unlike many of the others. He paints amazing folds, beautiful sweet faces, incredible delicacy.
Señora on the street - I asked Bruce to take this pic because it's the first time I've worn a skirt the entire trip. Hidden under the t-shirt is the giant gap in the skirt's waistband - I can hardly do it up. The dome of the Duomo in the background.
Lunch at Eataly - the soup tasting menu, with the bruschetta tasting menu in the background. Loosen the skirt a little more.
The Duomo. Spectacular. I then went alone to see Santa Maria Novella, jam-packed, yet again, with great art and architecture, frescoes, paintings, sculpture, and a beautiful cloister with more frescoes. Then to the Farmacia nearby, a shop started in the 1600's and still selling perfumes and expensive soaps. It smelled good. And then - time for a rest.
A miscellaneous store in a little Florentine street. Too bad I can't pick up a statue or two for the garden.
The Medici Library - the books were kept under the desks, chained to them. Below, the library staircase designed in 1524 by Michelangelo. Grey sandstone. Very stern and angular.
From a display of the history of writing - a divorce decree from 569 AD. My people - writing on clay, on papyrus, on parchment rolls, on flattened deerskin hides, and on a strange new material "made from macerated rags" - paper.
San Lorenzo - the Brunelleschi chapel. He and Donatello were friends until Donatello made the round inset decorations that the great architect of domes hated. Bruce said they didn't speak to each other for years.
A page by Fra Angelico, who started his artistic career as a scribe, lettering and painting books. 
The famous Fra Angelico annunciation in San Marco. Very plain, unlike many of the others. He paints amazing folds, beautiful sweet faces, incredible delicacy. 
Señora on the street - I asked Bruce to take this pic because it's the first time I've worn a skirt the entire trip. Hidden under the t-shirt is the giant gap in the skirt's waistband - I can hardly do it up. The dome of the Duomo in the background.
Lunch at Eataly - the soup tasting menu, with the bruschetta tasting menu in the background. Loosen the skirt a little more.
The Duomo. Spectacular. I then went alone to see Santa Maria Novella, jam-packed, yet again, with great art and architecture, frescoes, paintings, sculpture, and a beautiful cloister with more frescoes. Then to the Farmacia nearby, a shop started in the 1600's and still selling perfumes and expensive soaps. It smelled good. And then - time for a rest.
April 14, 2015
In Cortona with Bruce
Click to enlargeWe took the train today to Cortona, a beautiful ancient Tuscan hill town. A day of pure misery, as you can plainly see.
But first - the square outside my hotel last night - Matisse blue and gold.
Sign in Cortona - no caffe, no hoppines! Bruce agrees.
The view. Tuscany. Red and green.
A beautiful very old church door sideways, for some reason.
Inside - the usual plain little altar
Brooche taking in the most beautiful Fra Angelico Annunication - the angel's wings, Mary's face, the gold everywhere - stunning
Downtown Cortona, Bruce consulting his map
A letter box
A New Yorker cartoon that struck us both as funny on the train home - should be at the end
Another crummy little view
Une converzatione - gatos
The main piazza - with obligatory Vespa
Mon amid with gelato. Two flavours. MMMMM.
But first - the square outside my hotel last night - Matisse blue and gold.
Sign in Cortona - no caffe, no hoppines! Bruce agrees.
The view. Tuscany. Red and green.
A beautiful very old church door sideways, for some reason.
Inside - the usual plain little altar
Brooche taking in the most beautiful Fra Angelico Annunication - the angel's wings, Mary's face, the gold everywhere - stunning
Downtown Cortona, Bruce consulting his map
A letter box
A New Yorker cartoon that struck us both as funny on the train home - should be at the end
Another crummy little view
Une converzatione - gatos
The main piazza - with obligatory Vespa
Mon amid with gelato. Two flavours. MMMMM.
April 13, 2015
joy
Skyped this afternoon with Anna and Eli - still can't get over seeing those faces, hearing those much loved voices as if in the same room. While we talked, Anna gave Eli his lunch, and I said it looked delicious, and he said why didn't I come over and have some? So we had to explain I was far away. As he ate fish sticks, avocado and rice, I asked how the weather is in Toronto. "It's a li'l bit hot and a li'l bit cold," he told me, which I'm sure sums it up. He and his momma went to Emerg yesterday - he was pale and had a severe stomachache. Diagnosis: constipation due to too much milk. Now he drinks diluted prune juice. As did my mother.
I am on the other side of the world from my loved ones. Hard sometimes; I ache to see them. I am in fact counting the days, even though it's heavenly here. Only thirteen days until I can hold my boy.
It was wonderful not to do much in the latter part of the day - after so much walking, my feet hurt, and I'm worn out by so much beauty. Had a glass of wine in my room in the sun, but finally, at 7.45, needed to go and find some food. Through my on-line trolling, I'd learned that the Piazza Santo Spirito, on my side of the Arno, the left bank, was a happening place, and in the Guide du Routard I found a place there that sounded good. So headed off, in a city of thousands of restaurants, to find one, along the narrow streets, trying not to get hit by bicycles, cars, busses, passing ancient churches, tall magnificent old buildings, artisan workshops, countless trattorias.
I wasn't looking forward to solo eating - I can do it and I will, but it's far more fun to eat dinner with two - but the place was welcoming, a small restaurant with lots of tables right out in the beautiful piazza under the trees. They found me a table - ten minutes later there were lots of people standing waiting - and I found out the deal: from 7 to 9 every evening, you get a glass of something and as much as you can eat of the aperitivo nibbles, for 7 euros 50. A fantastic bargain. So I sat as the light dimmed to golden dusk in this medieval square, filling my plate with tomato salad, pasta, pate and cheese, drinking a glass of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, and all I wanted was for Bruce to be there too. Especially as I sat next to two men, one Italian and one from San Francisco, with their 3 little white dogs, very friendly. Perhaps designers. I was in heaven.
So - the price for these spectacular experiences is homesickness, sometimes, and losing things, and hauling stuff around, and bad days and cold rain. But then comes joy.
I am on the other side of the world from my loved ones. Hard sometimes; I ache to see them. I am in fact counting the days, even though it's heavenly here. Only thirteen days until I can hold my boy.
It was wonderful not to do much in the latter part of the day - after so much walking, my feet hurt, and I'm worn out by so much beauty. Had a glass of wine in my room in the sun, but finally, at 7.45, needed to go and find some food. Through my on-line trolling, I'd learned that the Piazza Santo Spirito, on my side of the Arno, the left bank, was a happening place, and in the Guide du Routard I found a place there that sounded good. So headed off, in a city of thousands of restaurants, to find one, along the narrow streets, trying not to get hit by bicycles, cars, busses, passing ancient churches, tall magnificent old buildings, artisan workshops, countless trattorias.
I wasn't looking forward to solo eating - I can do it and I will, but it's far more fun to eat dinner with two - but the place was welcoming, a small restaurant with lots of tables right out in the beautiful piazza under the trees. They found me a table - ten minutes later there were lots of people standing waiting - and I found out the deal: from 7 to 9 every evening, you get a glass of something and as much as you can eat of the aperitivo nibbles, for 7 euros 50. A fantastic bargain. So I sat as the light dimmed to golden dusk in this medieval square, filling my plate with tomato salad, pasta, pate and cheese, drinking a glass of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, and all I wanted was for Bruce to be there too. Especially as I sat next to two men, one Italian and one from San Francisco, with their 3 little white dogs, very friendly. Perhaps designers. I was in heaven.
So - the price for these spectacular experiences is homesickness, sometimes, and losing things, and hauling stuff around, and bad days and cold rain. But then comes joy.
Monday
It's 24 degrees - summer! Hot hot sun, everyone sweltering. Only a few days ago I was freezing my butt off in the London rain and before that in la pluie de Paris. It's beautiful out there, but overwhelming - one million people eating gelato.
Just as well it's hot now, because I've done a stupid thing. I am addicted to vests, wear them all the time. You remember perhaps that I went specially to Uniqlo in Paris to buy a black down vest to replace the one I'd taken off and left somewhere the year before? Well - I took the new one off this morning and left it somewhere. I can hear my father's voice - IDIOTNIK! And I am. No idea where it might be. Lucky people all over the world can just follow my trail of vests. I should buy them in bulk.
It's only money. I'm in Florence. Que sera, as they say.
Just hand washed t-shirts and pants and draped them out the window and am lying naked on the bed in the sun. My belly is definitely much bigger than when I left Toronto. Since I have lived on bread and cheese in France, jacket potatoes and pasta in London and of course pasta and panini here, it's not a surprise.
Que sera, as they say.
The city is stunning and overflowing with treasure in buildings, streetscapes, masterpieces of all kinds, and stuff to buy. Today Bruce and I watched a video about the flood of 1966, when the waters of the Arno rose metres high and many artworks and buildings were terribly damaged. Horrible to watch, 700 - 800 year old things covered in mud, being hauled away by the army. But they've done their best to restore.
There have been many magical moments here; one was yesterday evening, Bruce and I in a hotel he knows about that has a tiny bar on its roof with an incredible view of the city. We had a drink and looked at the vista while the sun set, talking to a wonderful American couple. Today we had another traveller moment - we went to eat at famous Mario's, extremely crowded, where you eat wherever they can squeeze you in, usually at someone else's table. They put us with a young couple who turned out to be Greek, he visiting from Athens, she studying architecture in Florence. We bonded immediately. I found out she's 29 years old, just the age I was in 1979 when I visited both Athens and Florence. As she sat there, long glossy brown hair, lovely fresh face, unsure of her direction, I saw my young self. She asked for my FB address and has already sent a friend request.
And then - more churches, museums, piazzas, paintings, statues, ceilings, frescoes, domes - miracles of human creativity, one artifact more beautiful than the next. I love this postcard of Italian doorbells, which says it all:
Just how many geniuses could one country produce for a few hundred years? And then what happened to them all?
Today we went to Santa Croce, which was begun in 1295 and contains the tombs of many great Italians including Michaelangelo, Rossini, Galileo, Machiavelli - yes - and the divine Dante. This is a country that knows how to celebrate its poets.
And then to the market nearby, full of interesting stuff including cashmere sweaters, another addiction, which is probably where I took off my vest to try one on and not buy it. Bought a pair of socks. We had lunch at Mario's, then Bruce pointed me to the San Lorenzo market - four million scarves and leather bags, all the same - and went home; we're taking a break this afternoon and evening. I went to the Medici Chapel designed by Michaelangelo, incredible marble and light -
Can't do it justice, of course - many kinds of marble everywhere, gilt, painted ceiling. Then I went to the Duomo and saw Brunelleschi's incredible dome.
Everywhere, people shove their cameras in front of you and snap away, oblivious. Worse are the giant iPads that people hold up in front of everything. I'm getting to the point that I don't want to take pictures, just to look. But I want to share what I see with you. So - dilemma.
To console myself about my vest I went to the shop Mandarina Duck, which sells beautiful, very light, good quality bags, and bought last season's backpack for 60% off. I know, a city full of leather and I buy a black nylon backpack. It'll last forever. Very useful for the bicycle. My souvenir of Firenze. And soon Uniqlo will come to Toronto and I'll buy six more vests.
Just as well it's hot now, because I've done a stupid thing. I am addicted to vests, wear them all the time. You remember perhaps that I went specially to Uniqlo in Paris to buy a black down vest to replace the one I'd taken off and left somewhere the year before? Well - I took the new one off this morning and left it somewhere. I can hear my father's voice - IDIOTNIK! And I am. No idea where it might be. Lucky people all over the world can just follow my trail of vests. I should buy them in bulk.
It's only money. I'm in Florence. Que sera, as they say.
Just hand washed t-shirts and pants and draped them out the window and am lying naked on the bed in the sun. My belly is definitely much bigger than when I left Toronto. Since I have lived on bread and cheese in France, jacket potatoes and pasta in London and of course pasta and panini here, it's not a surprise.
Que sera, as they say.
The city is stunning and overflowing with treasure in buildings, streetscapes, masterpieces of all kinds, and stuff to buy. Today Bruce and I watched a video about the flood of 1966, when the waters of the Arno rose metres high and many artworks and buildings were terribly damaged. Horrible to watch, 700 - 800 year old things covered in mud, being hauled away by the army. But they've done their best to restore.
There have been many magical moments here; one was yesterday evening, Bruce and I in a hotel he knows about that has a tiny bar on its roof with an incredible view of the city. We had a drink and looked at the vista while the sun set, talking to a wonderful American couple. Today we had another traveller moment - we went to eat at famous Mario's, extremely crowded, where you eat wherever they can squeeze you in, usually at someone else's table. They put us with a young couple who turned out to be Greek, he visiting from Athens, she studying architecture in Florence. We bonded immediately. I found out she's 29 years old, just the age I was in 1979 when I visited both Athens and Florence. As she sat there, long glossy brown hair, lovely fresh face, unsure of her direction, I saw my young self. She asked for my FB address and has already sent a friend request.
And then - more churches, museums, piazzas, paintings, statues, ceilings, frescoes, domes - miracles of human creativity, one artifact more beautiful than the next. I love this postcard of Italian doorbells, which says it all:
Just how many geniuses could one country produce for a few hundred years? And then what happened to them all?Today we went to Santa Croce, which was begun in 1295 and contains the tombs of many great Italians including Michaelangelo, Rossini, Galileo, Machiavelli - yes - and the divine Dante. This is a country that knows how to celebrate its poets.
And then to the market nearby, full of interesting stuff including cashmere sweaters, another addiction, which is probably where I took off my vest to try one on and not buy it. Bought a pair of socks. We had lunch at Mario's, then Bruce pointed me to the San Lorenzo market - four million scarves and leather bags, all the same - and went home; we're taking a break this afternoon and evening. I went to the Medici Chapel designed by Michaelangelo, incredible marble and light -
Can't do it justice, of course - many kinds of marble everywhere, gilt, painted ceiling. Then I went to the Duomo and saw Brunelleschi's incredible dome. Everywhere, people shove their cameras in front of you and snap away, oblivious. Worse are the giant iPads that people hold up in front of everything. I'm getting to the point that I don't want to take pictures, just to look. But I want to share what I see with you. So - dilemma.
To console myself about my vest I went to the shop Mandarina Duck, which sells beautiful, very light, good quality bags, and bought last season's backpack for 60% off. I know, a city full of leather and I buy a black nylon backpack. It'll last forever. Very useful for the bicycle. My souvenir of Firenze. And soon Uniqlo will come to Toronto and I'll buy six more vests.
April 12, 2015
Eli - and then back to Florence
And so it starts. My grandson on the right and his two best friends, all under the age of three, pissing against a wall. As Anna writes - It's official, spring has sprung. So happy to hear that. Much much much love.And now - back to Florence.
click to enlarge
Ponte Vecchio
Leading to the Piazza Signorina
One of the markets
The Piazza - renaissance flag throwers in costume
A miscellaneous door knocker
A miscellaneous Michaelangelo. Ha, not miscellaneous at all. Bruce knows that the Uffizzi is easy to get into at 5 - and sure enough, no line. He gave me the hour and a half tour of masterpieces - incredible. And I resolved not to photograph anything, it was all too overwhelming. But this - I had never noticed that Mary has a book in her lap. She's often portrayed in the Annunciation pictures reading, before being interrupted by the angel to tell her she's miraculously with child - hello little sperm bird! - but here she's a busy mother with a very solid bambino and still, trying to get a little reading done. So beautiful.
The Palazzo Vecchio, seen from the top floor of the Hotel Torre Guelfa - Bruce knew about this place, which has a tiny bar at the very top where you can sit outside with a glass of wine and drink in both Chianti and skyline. Paradise, especially as today was the most perfect weather of all. 
The view in one direction ...
... and the view in the other. We talked to a couple from San Jose - gun control, Jon Stewart, the joys of Italy, while quaffing our wine, listening to the Sunday church bells sound and watching the swallows wheel through the sky. Sublime. Unforgettable, thanks to my dear Brucie.
Sunday morning in Firenze
Click to enlarge
Marco Polo's diary! 1392. Beautifully neat handwriting. A+ for Marco.
Dante's church of the lovelorn - baskets of letters asking for his intervention in hopeless love.
My 'hood on the Oltrano - the left bank. My hotel is tucked in behind the trees.
Be still my beating heart. More gelato - today, chocolate mousse (too sweet) and limon - perfect. A gelato a day keeps ... Bethy happy.
Across the Arno. All those ugly buildings and the sky way too blue.
In the Bargello museum of sculpture - a palace full of many naked men (uncircumcised) -
- and beautiful Madonnas. This one by Donatello, particularly protective and moving.
Gay Donatello's particularly fey David, with flowery hat, long curls, limp wrist and very big sword.
"Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be." See all the lost souls under her cloak?
Here we are.
Santa Maria Novella.
Lunch - foccacia and Obama in Cuba. (A poem?)
Across the Arno from my hotel
The Florence half marathon - overseen by David
Local musicians come out to play for the finish
Thrilling - you can't see them, the frontrunners from Kenya, except for their lime green shoes, they went by so fast. After looking at all those stunning bodies in marble, here were stunning bodies in ebony - divine running machines, many minutes ahead of their human rivals.
Marco Polo's diary! 1392. Beautifully neat handwriting. A+ for Marco.
Dante's church of the lovelorn - baskets of letters asking for his intervention in hopeless love.
My 'hood on the Oltrano - the left bank. My hotel is tucked in behind the trees.
Be still my beating heart. More gelato - today, chocolate mousse (too sweet) and limon - perfect. A gelato a day keeps ... Bethy happy.
Across the Arno. All those ugly buildings and the sky way too blue.
In the Bargello museum of sculpture - a palace full of many naked men (uncircumcised) -
- and beautiful Madonnas. This one by Donatello, particularly protective and moving.
Gay Donatello's particularly fey David, with flowery hat, long curls, limp wrist and very big sword.
"Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be." See all the lost souls under her cloak?
Here we are.
Santa Maria Novella.
Lunch - foccacia and Obama in Cuba. (A poem?)
Across the Arno from my hotel
The Florence half marathon - overseen by David
Local musicians come out to play for the finish
Thrilling - you can't see them, the frontrunners from Kenya, except for their lime green shoes, they went by so fast. After looking at all those stunning bodies in marble, here were stunning bodies in ebony - divine running machines, many minutes ahead of their human rivals.
