Capri

October 22, 2003-Disillusioned
(photo: On 2380 year old Phoenician steps)

I’m getting tired of the 20-minute bus ride into Sorrento every day. I have memorized the merchandise in the stores. When we arrived at the main square we had a decision to make. We could either walk down to the dock to catch the hydrofoil to Capri by road or by using the stairs. The steps were shorter, but the road was more scenic. The road hazard was that we would share it with buses and other sundry vehicles. The buses here tend to think they have the right of way over pedestrians. They’ve honked at us when the only place we had to go was into a wall. They really should provide niches where those on foot could take refuge. There was a bus alternative down to the water, but that’s for cowards. We chose the roadway and were able to take the steps when we were 2/3 of the way down. Life is about compromise. The unhappy fact of the matter was that as we walked all the way down we knew that we’d have to walk all the way back up at the end of the day.

The primary secondary language in Sorrento is English, yet I found it curious that vendors at the ferry dock hawked their wares in English only. It’s not uncommon to see people from different countries speaking to each other in English, eg. Germans and Japanese.

I’m dawdling and avoiding writing about Capri because I like odd man (person) out. Songs have been written about its beauty and romantic tales have been spun. To that I say, “It was on the Isle of Capri that we nearly got ripped off.” With a population of only 13,000, they’re inundated with 13-16,000 tourists a day. Their only industry is tourism. There’s a chair lift, a funicular, Villa San Michele a museum of Alex Munthe’s home, a Tiberius’ villa that we couldn’t see, a blue grotto that was closed because of high seas, high-end stores, low-end gift shops, and as many gelato stands as there are fudge stores on Mackinaw Island.

To avoid fighting the crowds for standing room only on buses going to Ana Capri, the higher town, we signed on for a guided tour. We should have been suspicious about Giuseppe, our guide. I’ve learned not to trust an Italian man who dyes his hair blond. He was a native of the island and said he’d tell us the history and show us around. He actually led us around by our noses. We detoured to taste crème-lemoncello, a lemon liqueur, in one shop, heard a talk about inlaid coral furniture in another, and were steered to “his favorite restaurant.” We went down to the town of Capri after lunch and saw the original Roman harbor and Augustus Gardens. The views lived up to the brochures but we were unprepared for the crush of people and commercialism. It’s truly paradise lost.

Giuseppe did explain that 4-million years ago Capri separated from mainland Italy but is still connected under the sea. Greeks arrived 2900 years ago. Phoenicians left evidence of their presence by building a staircase from the town of Capri to Ana Capri. The steps survive and are still used today. The Phoenicians, however, are gone. Mussolini declared that every city in Italy had to have a street named Via Roma. His villa was on the Via Roma in Capri. We saw the Quisisana Hotel Capri. That translates to “here you get help.” It used to be a sanitarium and is now a hotel catering to those who can pay EU 1,900 / night. Some of those people are Queen Elizabeth and the Kennedys. The most exciting thing we saw was a ninety-five year-old, fifty-two foot tall cactus.

Several people felt taken, but a Norwegian couple made quite a fuss and Giuseppe gave them their money back. At least it wasn’t the “ugly Americans” this time. The people locked into this tour with us were very pleasant. There were several Brits who weren’t willing to take the trade we offered them. We wanted to give them Arnold Schwartzenegger and Pres. Bush in exchange for Tony Blair and the Queen. They were willing to give us Blair.

Ready-O Let’s Go

We’ve been in Sorrento too long. We’re starting to recognize people on the streets and in restaurants. This evening we ran into people we met at the Laundromat and some from Capri. What did Italy do before America brought them the tomato? What did they eat? They freely admit they owe the tomato to the Americas. Where would Italy be if Marco Polo hadn’t brought flat bread from the East? Where would we be without pizza?

I’ve changed the title of my emails in an attempt to get them through a spam-blocking program at Lakeland Community College in Cleveland. I hope I’m successful.

Tomorrow we brave the Amalfi Coast. David was taking a survey of anyone who’d been there and is leaning towards doing it by bus instead of driving our car. I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.

Toby

Pompeii

October 21, 2003-It’s All Uphill
(photos:At one of 120 bars,
Preserved bodies)

Today has been about uphill climbs. It started as we trekked 20 minutes to the Meta train station. It’s quite tropical here. Flowers were blooming and each house had orange trees. I peeked into the town cathedral. It’s a sweet little place. There are so many area churches and some are more interesting than the huge basilicas. They’re unique each with its own personality.

We had a free bus ride yesterday since the tobacco shops where tickets are sold were closed on Monday until late afternoon. In fact, most businesses are closed on Monday and Sunday. They also close daily from 1-4pm. Then they stay open until 9pm. Italians are not workaholics. Today on the train to Pompeii we paid full freight. A busker playing a trombone and a Scottish couple who now live in Surry entertained us. An extremely handsome young man was standing next to me. He was wearing a pink sweater. I decided that real men must not be afraid to wear pink. Correcting History So much has been written about it. What can I add? Watch me try. For one thing, it was more uphill climbing. We hired a licensed guide at the site so we’d be in a small group of eight. He was an incredible resource and very upfront about where Roman culture originated. He attributed it to the Jews and Greeks.

Italians aren’t known for being law-abiding. The “no pets allowed” sign at the entrance to the site was studiously ignored. There are bands of feral though friendly dogs living off the droppings or should I say food offerings of tourists. Then there are the leashed interlopers. We saw the beginnings of a dogfight when the “locals” objected to the “new kid in the ruins.” A guard started screaming at the local banditos (sorry, that’s Spanish) and they dispersed. It amazes me that the dogs understand Italian and I don’t.

The city was founded before 700 BCE. The Greeks were there in 600 BCE and the Romans by 180 BCE. The infamous eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, which was seven miles away, occurred in 79 CE. We know so much about the eruption and the city because Pliny the Elder and his son were in the area and got as close as they could to document the event. Unfortunately, The Elder succumbed to the gases. By the way, BCE stands for Before the Common Era and CE is Common Era. Jewish people prefer that terminology to BC and AD.

The eruption lasted three days spewing gas and pumice stone (hardened lava) into the air. The city didn’t burn. Gases killed the inhabitants and the stone caused the wood roof structures to collapse and crush those still alive. The population at that time was 20,000. People did have a day to evacuate. The 2,000 who didn’t leave or who returned to retrieve their possessions died. Vesuvius is still an active volcano. The last eruption was 1944. Since disaster follows in our wake, we expect that it will erupt soon after we arrive home. The present excavation began in 1748 and continues today.

Pompeii used to be situated closer to the sea but landfill happens. It was a wealthy commercial center and dealt in fish, 24-karat gold, wine, fabric, olive oil, perfume, ceramics, and agricultural products. Fifty per cent of the population was rich, thirty per cent were poor, and twenty per cent were slaves. The wealthy families owned land outside the walls and used slaves to farm it.

No cement was used in any of the construction. The stones, bricks, and marble were cut to fit tightly. Except for one heck of an earthquake, it has lasted 2,000 years and some of it still stands. Smooth marble slabs were used to pave the roads so that the moonlight would reflect to light the way at night. They are quite uneven now and walking along them is like playing a gigantic game of hopscotch. The walls were plastered with marble dust to obtain the same reflective effect. Each house had terra-cotta indoor plumbing that emptied into the streets. Permanent stepping-stones across the streets were used to avoid the effluent. The stones were spaced to allow for chariot wheels to pass. Chariot wheels were 4 ft. 81/2 in. apart. That’s still the width used between train tracks and it was the width of the launching ramp when we went to the moon. The guide said that it provides extremely good balance.

Aqueducts brought fresh drinking water into homes by way of lead pipes. The average life span was thirty-five years, but they didn’t die young from the lead. The calcium carbonate from the water coated the inside of the pipes and kept the lead from leaching into the water. It wasn’t until the 1700’s that such conveniences returned. Perhaps it was the pewter plates they used or the consumption of a gallon of wine a day at the one hundred twenty bars in the city that did them in.

The art that survived was mind-boggling. Frescoes are made by painting on wet plaster. The three-dimensional perspectives achieved in the frescoes, the technique, the musculature and grace of the bronze statues, marble carvings, and the optical illusion of many mosaics wasn’t to be seen again in art until the Renaissance.

Basilica is a Greek word meaning a place of commerce that included tribunals. In 325 AD Constantine adopted their shape for building churches. It has become known as a Roman cross. Forum is a Roman word meaning town square. Today’s piazzas still include places of commerce around the perimeter under a palisade, law, and worship. The Piazza San Marco in Venice is a dead ringer for the forum in Pompeii. The only difference is that there’s a church in St. Marks and a temple to Jupiter in Pompeii. The temples in Pompeii had sacrificial altars. The meat of the sacrifice was distributed to the poor much as it was in the old Temple in Jerusalem.

We saw many examples of commercial activity. An early feminist who ran what was a women’s co-op organized one of the centers. Another area had a large fishpond where fresh fish were sold. A bakery with ovens and grinding stones survived. It was curious to see that their bread had a hole in the middle. An early bagel?

A Fun Group

Relaxation was paramount and the wealthy had their public baths. They were centrally heated by a system of steam circulating through hollow walls and floors. Curved ceilings were grooved to channel condensation down the sides of the walls so it would not drip on clients. The original floor, benches, and bas-relief survived as well as a fountain with the name of the wealthy donor and the cost written in bronze.

The famous plaster casts of the bodies found on site were most interesting. The bodies were covered with hardened ash when first found. Only the skeleton survived inside the ash coating. In order to preserve them, the form was injected with a compound that hardened and then the bodies were cast in plaster. They’re indeed in the positions of death. One person has his arms raised as if he was holding up a cloth to protect him from the gas. There are casts of a dog and pig. It’s completely mesmerizing. Their agony is evident.

But these people did know how to enjoy life! The symbol for goof luck, a phallus, was carved in stone and stood by each entryway. Randy old Priapus is pictured in many frescoes and mosaics with an engorged penis. In one he’s weighing it on a scale; in another he’s carrying a spare. Hey, parts is parts. The Lupinare was the red-light district. Lupinare means predatory she-wolf. Prostitution was legal and they hung red lanterns to show who was open for business. Paintings of erotica festooned the walls serving as a menu of delights. Their stone beds and pillows (supposedly covered with mattresses in their day) survived as well as the toilet for guests. I wonder if it had a seat or was like the ones here today where they remove the seats and leave only the stool? In any case, it was a pay toilet. Some things in Italy haven’t changed.

It’s ironic that the Coliseum in Pompeii is the best preserved in Italy. It held 20,000 spectators and is smaller than the more famous one in Rome. There were two gates; one was an entrance for living patrons and the other was the exit for dead bodies of gladiators. Awnings were erected to shelter from sun and rain. A gymnasium and Olympic size swimming pool was included in the complex. The larger of two amphitheaters seats 5,000 and is still in use today. Our guide gave us a mini-operatic concert to demonstrate the acoustics.

We took a lunch break and decided to share a split of wine. Even though we don’t care for red wine at home we’ve grown fond of Italian rossa. We almost didn’t make it out of the cafeteria. We’re such cheap drunks. We decided that in our condition we needed some quiet so headed for the cemetery. They cremated their dead and buried them outside the city walls. The tombs were remarkable in that many survived with the marble intact and the carvings perfectly legible.

The Villa of Mystery was also outside the walls. It was a resort used to escape the heat of the city. It had some of the best-preserved frescoes. One tourist told us that they were on line if we didn’t get to see them all. There was no explanation as to the name or the mystery.

On our way out of the site we passed a warehouse for archeological artifacts. It was humbling to see household goods, human bodies, and pieces of structures piled in rows like some moving company storage facility.

I don’t know how long this precious site will last. Tourists will take a toll. They’ve left graffiti and plastic bottles. Perhaps the plastic will survive longer than the buildings. I wonder which will survive the next eruption of Vesuvius?

Down Time

We took the train to Sorrento where we strolled, shopped in Italy’s only department store chain, UPM, and had pizza for dinner….again. I’m liking our hotel more. The room is huge and the location isn’t as inconvenient as I first thought. It won’t survive as well as Pompeii, but we only need it for three more nights. We’re sharing the facility with a group of Israelis. They like their music loud but seem to go to bed early.

Tomorrow we’re off to the Isle of Capri.

Toby

Re-Adjusting

October 20, 2003-Ick!
(photos:Meta-Panorama Palace marked with X,
Laundromat from hell)

No more weather reports from here! I give up. It looks like we’ll just have to put up with the mercurial weather of the season. At least we’re heading South and it seems to have warmed up. A bar breakfast was included with our room. We were told it was croissants and coffee. The croissants turned out to be packaged cakes and the flies were included for free. I’m glad we didn’t eat dinner there last night.

I feel a need to keep writing about black sheep. Karen Cimini has such a quest to see them that I feel compelled to mention each sighting. We hit the bonanza today. We saw a black momma with two black babies and a white one. I guess I just want to rub it in, but Karen also wanted to introduce us to a favorite of hers, profiterole. It’s a custard-filled puff pastry with cholcolate frosting poured over the top. We found some this afternoon on, of all place, the dessert bar of the Autogrille on the autostrade.

We skirted Rome and Naples and found our hotel Panorama Palace in Meta outside Sorrento. We could have driven up and down blind alleys all day and never found it. There were two signs indicating the direction to take, but then it seemed as if they gave up and decided if we got close enough we’d figure it out. We asked directions many times and found the hotel when we ran out of land. It sits right over the water and is aptly named. Our room looks out to the Bay of Naples. We can even lie in bed and raise the electric window shade. It all sounds so Meditrranean and romantic, but Naples is filthy and Sorrento is barely a step better. There were even hawkers at the tollbooths on the autostrade. It’s that different than what we’ve seen so far. We’re back to dog waste in the streets.

Our hotel is a twenty-minute bus ride from Sorrento, which is where the action is. It’s not as far as we thought it might be. Today was laundry day and we loaded our dirty clothes into a roll-aboard and bussed it to town. There are no Laundromats in Meta and only one in Sorrento. It took from 3 PM to 6 PM to do our wash. It was the Laundromat from hell. There were two washers and three dryers. One dryer was broken. One washer tried to attack anyone within reach during its spin cycle. The place was filthy but the company was phenomenal. We had a long wait with the limited facilities but had a rowdy bunch of beer chugging Australians for entertainment. One group was on a tour from Sydney and the others were a young couple from Brisbane. We reminisced and passed the time and were joined by a couple from Connecticut. We exchanged travel tips and went our separate ways.

A friend in Akron who gets these emails told us that the wedding announcement for Wendy and her partner was in the Akron Beacon Journal. I know it’s available on line. We haven’t seen it yet. It was a ground-breaking stand for the paper to take. As I understand it they wrote an editorial about it and have asked for reader responses. I’d encourage you to let them know how you feel. Please save copies of the announcement for us and any letters to the editor that might appear. We’re really proud and excited that the Beacon took this step.

Toby

Orbetello Not Portobello

October 19, 2003-Lucky Lucca
(photos:Basilica and tower,
One man band)

The Ciminis didn’t take the sun. It came back today. I think it didn’t come out because it was sad they’d gone home. We were back in shirtsleeve weather.

Our morning started with a chorus of birds and their rendition of Italian opera and Italian rock and roll. We also got acquainted with squeezable tea, Oscar, and Nutella. The birds outside our window were ecstatic over the worms the rain brought out. Last night we dined to Italian crooners but this morning they piped in more energetic fare for breakfast. Evidently Lipton makes a teabag that has two strings attached to one tab. When the tab is torn you can pull the strings causing the bag to fold up, contract, and squeeze. Oscar was the curly haired blond two-year-old son of German guests. He seemed to have the run of the inn. Nutella is a chocolate morning spread that tastes like frosting. David loves it. I suggested combining American and Italian culture for a peanut butter-Nutella blend ala Resse’s peanut butter cups.

The rain yesterday was good for something besides birds and watering fields parched by a scorching summer. It washed our bird-pooped car, which we loaded up and drove ten minutes to see Lucca dodging long-distance bikers all the way. I think they’re getting in shape for the Venice race. There are 6,000 entered. I’m glad we missed it. We also seemed to have missed the 25th anniversary of the pope in Rome.

Lucca has a tiny old city surrounded by ramparts. It’s a little over a half mile across. No cars are allowed within the walls. It’s known as the birthplace of Puccini. What we didn’t know was that it’s street market takes up the entire town. It was the Antique Road Show Italiano. This wasn’t a flea market. The merchandise was intriguing. Among the items for sale were old cameras, typewriters, lace, household goods, and exquisite furniture. There was even entertainment. A one-man band accompanied by a boom box played “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” and other American favorites.

At Duomo St. Martine, mass was being said. We stayed while a nun read scripture and a truly heavenly choir and soloist chanted in Latin. The church was built on the site of a Roman forum during the 11-14 centuries. It’s Pisan-Romanesque in design. Pisan refers to the type of Romanesque style in the area of Pisa.

Under-rated Pisa

We crossed the Arno River in search of that ubiquitous tower built on a salt marsh. Everyone told us Pisa was a drive-through site. We took more time there and are glad we did. We approached the tower from the side of the basilica and duomo. I didn’t even know they were there. The only photos I’ve seen of the tower have made it seem as if it was standing alone in an open space. From our angle it was an incongruous contrast to the mass and symmetry of its neighboring buildings. It’s odd enough on its own but juxtaposed to its surroundings the tilt is even more extreme. We ate “old food” (leftovers) on the steps of a monument and gazed at the tower. We finished the matzo we bought in Pitigliano and the salmon pate.

Our trouble began when we found an Internet café and sent the last emails. AOL invalidated our password. It happened three times before when we were traveling around the world and mailed too many addresses at once. They see it as spam. We had to figure out how to contact them. We didn’t have the number for AOL customer service and couldn’t find it on line. No one here knew what we were talking about when we asked about AOL Italy. Evidently it doesn’t exist. We had a long distance phone card for the U.S. but it won’t take 800#’s so we couldn’t use it to call information. We had a SPRINT card but the access number for Italy had changed. We needed to call Italian information but it was all Italian. Our solution was to go to a hotel in search of someone who spoke English. The desk clerk was helpful but said he only had AT&T numbers. When he got out his list of long distance carriers he was surprised to see SPRINT listed. David bought a local phone card to call SPRINT in Italy so they could get us the number for AOL in the U.S. That accomplished, he called AOL who told us we had one hundred five recipients in our travel group. David told them what we were doing and they’ve lifted the spam block and gave us a new password. Oy!

We wanted to stop south of Rome but the AOL glitch delayed us an hour. We’re now at the Restaurant and Hotel Cacciatore in Ortebello. There was a wedding reception in progress but we were assured it would soon end. It’s a resort of sorts by the sea and a poor sister to Portofino. Everything here is seafood or pizza. David couldn’t face another pizza so we asked a restaurant owner if he could prepare pasta with no pork or shellfish. He asked if we were kosher. It was easier to say yes then to explain. Then he wanted to know if we were Israelis. In any case, he served us artichokes in olive oil and penne pasta arabiata. It was a tangy red sauce. Actually, the red sauce here is more orange. Bella!

Toby

Balbano, Of All Places

October 18, 2003-Seeking the Sea
(photos:Portofino,
Villa Casanova)

The Ciminis left and took all the good weather. It’s raining and forty-five degrees. We left the four-star Hotel Cavalieri della Corona in Cardona near Milan after partaking of what they termed a “rich” breakfast. I guess that would mean a light breakfast doesn’t include wine on the buffet. It was small compensation for the fact that we had to eat dinner at the four-star hotel restaurant last night. We had our hearts set on the autostrade grill.

We crossed a very dry Po River and started our climb into the clouds of the Apennine Mts. I felt as if Latin 101 had come to life and I was following the trail of Julius Caesar. Except for the Roman viaducts still in use, the red tile roofs, and the signs in Italian I’d swear I was in West Virginia. Those are a lot of “excepts.” Italians haven’t lost their touch as far as road building. The highway was an amazing maze of tunnels and bridges cutting through and around the hills. I’m sorry to tell Karen that there was even a flock of sheep and half were black. The charm of the moment was lost as we rounded a bend and were confronted by a refinery with gigantic blue tanks.

We wanted to find the Mediterranean Sea as soon as possible and Nervi looked like a good place to search out local roads. With water to our right and mountains to our left we soaked up the scenery in the luscious vacation spots of Santa Margherita Ligure and Portofino. The rooftops were now tan slate but the buildings made up for the lack of red tile. The color combinations varied from salmon buildings with green shutters to gold houses with pink shutters; and pink facades with black shutters. That would have been enough, but as this pastel palate rose up from the road on one side and down to the pebbled beach and the teal blue sea on the other, I saw that some buildings wore broad stripes, some were festooned with painted medallions or flowers, and others were decorated with trompe d’oile designs. Pomegranate trees overhung the road and bougainvilleas bloomed.

Lucky Lucca We followed tour buses until they could go no farther. Roads in Italy, even the autostrade, don’t have shoulders. The one we were on narrowed so that the lanes in each direction were the width of ¾ of a car with rock outcroppings encroaching into the lanes. In Portofino David quickly snapped photos while I held an umbrella over the camera. We lunched on bresaola (that dried beef we like) and pizza margherita, jumped into the car to warm up, and continued south.

We wanted to stop in Lucca, the birthplace of Puccini, for the night. David has mastered the toll- booths and was feeling quite confident when a car in front of us had trouble. We were surprised that only two cars honked during the delay. Italian drivers get a bum wrap. The’re aggressive and exceed the speed limit but do use their directional signals, yield, and merge without histrionics.

For the first time this trip we stopped at a tourist information office to book a room. They were extremely helpful. Most places in our price-range were booked but they found us Villa Casanova, a converted 17th century Tuscan farm. It’s only six miles outside the historic center of Lucca set in the tiny village of Balbano. David’s in love with this place. The views are panoramic, the furniture antique, the eighteen foot high ceilings are all original with wood beams, and the floors are terra cotta. All this and breakfast for $84. Heat would have been optional if the boiler had been turned on for the season.

A woman from Ceylon whose Italian was impeccable and whose English was limited greeted us. She was eager to help. The aroma of dinner cooking greeted us as we registered. We didn’t want to venture out to eat and choices here were limited. She totally understood our dietary restrictions. The meal was classic Tuscan. David was thrilled to have veal. Three huge rough-cut succulent pieces in natural gravy were presented simply on a plate with no adornment. I don’t eat veal on principle so my choice was soup and spaghetti with tomato sauce. The minestrone was the best we’ve had to date. Unfortunately, Tuscan bread is what we think of as Italian, but their version is tasteless. Olive oil is a definite plus. The dinner included a mixed salad and vegetable pie. The pie was what I call a pudding or kugel. It’s baked eggs with vegetables. Dessert was tiramisu ice cream, fruit, fruitcake, or cheese. We ordered a bottle of white Tuscan wine. On the bottle it said that it should be served at about fifty degrees temperature. That wasn’t a problem since that was room temperature. We’d been sharing one bottle of wine with the Ciminis, but managed to polish this off on our own. It was our undoing. I started making spritzers using sparkling water. At the end of the meal David said that he didn’t think he had lips anymore. I told him that one of my ears was cold and the other was hot. He verified that it was so. We started giggling until my eyes teared, but I didn’t wet my pants.

I must quote from the hotel brochure: “ L’air is sharp and invigorating, eccellent for the healt. Ideal place for holidays, short stans, and week –end… The cookin is typically Tuscan.”

Tomorrow we’ll drive through Pisa and South. We expect to be in Sorrento on the 20th.

Toby

Milano

October 17,2003- Peek A Boo Lakes
(photos:Isola Bella,
Frolicking in the garden)

It could have been I-77 in the Akron area, but we happened to be on the autostrade from Venice to Milan. We rolled through the regions of Veneto, Lombardy, and Piedmont with eyes peeled for the Alps. It was an industrial route with trucks galore. Our travel agent was right about a lot of things, but she nailed it with her weather prediction. She said we should go to the Alps before we headed south from Rome because it gets very cold up north at the end of October. The sun was out and the temperature hovered between the high 30’s and low 50’s. We were dressed for it, but touring in colder weather would have been uncomfortable. Karen had fortified herself at breakfast my ordering a café nero. It is black coffee that pours like Mississippi mud.

Every once in a while we’d see a tree whose leaves were red or yellow, but mostly they were green or brown. We made it to Lake Como at the foot of the Italian Alps by lunch. We’d flirted with glimpses of the lake as we approached the town. Its majesty finally showed itself as we rounded the last of many bends. We chose a restaurant along the water and enjoyed the view and respite from the tedium of the road.

My longtime friend from sixth grade and college roommate suggested that Lake Maggiore and the town of Stressa were more scenic. Thank you for that! We drove along back roads and were lost more than we were not, but we eventually blundered into Arona, at the south end of Lake Maggiore. The beauty of the lake and the villas lining its edge mesmerized us. They varied from Italian to Swiss influence with some Mediterranean overtones. Their colors painted the lush landscape with playful accents.

Stressa was that was promised. There’s more lake surface there than in Como. Islands and sailboats dotted the water creating a diversity of interest for our eyes. The Alps hovered in the background. What could be more divine? Although the tourist information office told us it was too late to visit Isola Bella, an island with a palace, an enterprising boat captain insisted we did have time for a tour of house and gardens.

I'm glad she stressed the importance of visiting this Garden of Eden. The house itself was built by the Borromeo family in the1600’s. Forget that the baroque rooms were enormous and in mint condition. Napoleon and Josephine really did sleep there. Forget about the grotto, a dark cool series of rooms lined with tiny stone and coral. Never mind the “horse boutique” with the glitzy equine paraphernalia. Disregard the extensive collection of marionettes and the six floor-to-ceiling Flemish tapestries. Ignore the flying staircase to the tower. The brilliance was that the family and architect chose the perfect execution for the perfect house in the perfect location. Windows were key to the success of design. They recognized that the most important aspect of the house was outside and let it in. We, however, were on borrowed time. As we progressed from room to room, we heard doors closing behind us. We were the last tourists of the day and were followed by a guard who was literally locking up as we left.

The environment was on display but the formal gardens were an attempt to tame nature. Palms, banana trees, and evergreens co-existed. Terraced gardens and ponds contrasted with less structured beds of flowering plants and orange trees. Playful statues peered out from lilacs and white peahens strolled the lawns.

Karen is ready to move there. We checked prices in the window of a real estate office. A modest villa goes for 7.5 million euros. Add 20% for U.S. dollars. We’re taking up a collection.

In our hotel in Milan, the city of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper we had our last supper with Ron and Karen Cimini. We won’t be able to see The Last Supper since we didn’t make reservations.

The Ciminis fly home tomorrow. We’ll miss their company, their humor, insights, singing, and Karen’s knowledge and appreciation of horticulture. They leave us with their leftover snacks, their Italian-English dictionary, their extra Euros, and the whole car to ourselves. If they ever find their guidebook we get that too.

We go South tomorrow in hope of finding Portofino and Pisa. I’m sure we’ll get lost again. David’s attitude is that it doesn’t matter. Wherever it is we’ve never been there before.

Toby

Still Venezia

October 16, 2003-Good Morning Ghettos
(photos:German style synagogue-1528,
Spanish style synagogue-1555,
Italian style synagogue-1575)

St. Mark’s bell tower said “Good morning” to us by tolling its bells sixty times. I don’t know the significance of sixty chimes, but it got our attention. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes before our alarm was set to ring. If it had been much earlier I would have been forced to blow it up. That would have started an international incident and ruined our trip.

We were out bright and early to catch the waterbus for the Jewish ghetto. Sun glinted on pastel facades as Venetians started another day. Commercial barges laden with everything from newspapers to foodstuffs plied their way through the fetid water. Barge operators personalize their boats just as our truckers do with their 18-wheelers. One barge had a teddy bear sitting in the bow. Primary colors ringed barber-like poles marking docks in contrast to the black and green mold that crawled up the buildings from the waterline. This is a Mecca for the black mold mitigation industry. How moldy is it? The bottom step was so slippery with mold that I lost my balance and almost fell in. That would have been as repulsive as the time my hand accidentally dipped into the Ganges. If black mold is as deadly as we’re told, why aren’t Venetians dead?

We wove our way to the ghetto. It’s situated on an island where foundries had been. The Venetian word “gitto” means foundry. The Ashkenazic Jews from Germany couldn’t pronounce it as Italians did and called it “ghetto.” Designations of old, new, and newest ghettos refer to the ages of the foundries there, thus the oldest synagogue is in the “new ghetto.”

There has been a Jewish population in Venice since the 10th century. In 1382 Jews were no longer permitted to be in professions and most businesses. Doctors, printers, merchants, and moneylenders were the exception. That was the beginning of the stereotype of Jews being usurers. The ghetto gate was locked at night and patrol boats paid for by the Jewish community guarded the canal-sides. Only doctors were permitted to leave at night. During the day anyone who left the ghetto had to wear a yellow hat. That factoid is really spooky.

When Napoleon arrived he knocked down the ghetto gate and freed the Jews. By 1939, there were 1670 Jews in Venice. The Nazis transported 226. The rest hid or fled, but after the war only eight returned. There are now approximately 30,000 Jews in Italy with four hundred in Venice. There’s an operating religious school, an old-age home with ten “grandmothers” in residence, and a Chabad House. The old cemetery dates from 1386 and the new from 1700. There’s a head rabbi of Venice and several other rabbis in the community. Napoleon gave the Jews civil rights, but in 1989, the Italian government gave them a guarantee of religious rights. The example given was that if they are hospitalized and want kosher food it’s to be provided. For more information see www.ghetto.it.

Ashkenazic (German) and Sephardic (Spanish) Synagogues were established in the early 1600’s. The former houses a museum with an admirable collection of Judaica. The silver on display could use polishing by the Temple Israel Sisterhood committee that keeps ours in such brilliant condition. Government money may be requested for restoration since the synagogues are considered to be historical monuments.

Of the five synagogues, we saw three. One Ashkenazic synagogue has been only used once a year, for the High Holidays from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur, since after WWI. Marble was not used anywhere but in homes of the wealthy and churches so the floor, walls, and columns are all faux finish on wood and plaster. The effect is baroque, ornate, and gilt. The second Ashkenazic synagogue is also only used once a year but may be rented out for bar or bat mitzvahs and weddings. The Venetian synagogue is in the Levantine (Turkish) style influenced by church architecture since there were no Jewish architects. The wood is painted black and the ceiling is white with black painted detailing. It’s used six months a year since it has heat.

The beauty of the whole thing is that this is a living functioning Jewish community. Jews no longer live in the ghetto area, but there are shops, kosher food stores, and a kosher restaurant. An amazing agglomeration of Jews from around the world gathers to see, learn, kvell (be proud), and, of course, shop. It felt so good to buy Jewish things in Jewish stores from Jewish merchants. We even ate lunch in the Chabad owned restaurant. It was comforting to know we could eat anything on the menu. Italians are really into their pork and shellfish. We have seen “lardo” listed on menus. It’s what it sounds like, pure bacon fat. I call it the non-Jewish “gribbinez” (pan-fried chicken fat).

Values and Clarification

In this Catholic country the Church couldn’t be denied. The afternoon found us once again in St. Marks Square just in time to see the interior of the Basilica before closing. We cut it so close that not even the gift shop was open after we toured the church. Karen couldn’t bear to see another fresco so she and Ron sat on the piazza and people-watched.

There were no frescos in St. Marks. It was apparent by the Byzantine design that the 12th century architect was from the East. Mosaic was the predominant art form for the marble and glass floors and the gold and tile depictions on walls and ceilings. I took out our binoculars to be sure and saw close up and intimate that there were in fact millions of teeny-weeny pieces comprising each work. A 10th century altarpiece, the pala d’oro, was displayed on the altar. It consists of 250 enameled gold and jeweled paintings on gold foil in a gilded silver gothic frame. Seeing the wealth of the Church frequently prompts me to conduct a personal value clarification exercise.

It was pizza night again. We’d been without for two whole days. Our antipasto was dried beef with thin slices of Parmesan and arugula. We had pasta fagiole soup, the real deal. We were adventurous with the pizza and ordered it with salmon, egg, and Gorgonzola cheese. The egg was sunny side down and in the center like a bull’s eye. When we were in Australia we found it odd that they served pizza with egg. I guess their pizza is just more Italian than ours in America.

Ron noticed a familiar face at the table next to ours. Lou Pinella of baseball fame just happened to be in Venice dining in the same restaurant. Ron checked the World Series play-off results with him but resisted asking for a photo or autograph.

We leave early tomorrow for Milan with a swing up to the Italian Alps and Lake Como region. Brrr!

Toby

Venice

October 15, 2003-Humble Pie
(photos:Entrance to dungeon and Bridge of Sighs,
Gondolier,Bundled up on Rialto Bridge)


David is suffering from toll avoidance anxiety. We traveled on the autostrade to Venice and chose to pay with a credit card at the automated booth instead of trying currency. It will be interesting to see how EU0.90 will be converted on the Master Card bill.

The terrain became flat and monotonous and leaves were turning yellow and brown as we approached the area known as the Veneto and the Dolomite Mts. Karen said she heard someone on NPR say that the N.E. United States is the only place in the world where there is a varied and riotous display of color in autumn.

We were singing all the songs we could remember as we tooled happily along. We were so into our ability to remember lyrics that we sailed past our exit. It took a traffic jam and almost an hour to get to the next exit and turn around. We were focused on finding lunch and were willing to try a service center/rest area. Our dinner last night of steak marinated in real balsamic vinegar still tickled our palates and we thought lunch would be a comedown.

I will now eat humble pie and rave about the food on the toll roads of Italy. We have nothing like it at home. There’s some fast food at the Italian plazas, but also an array of fresh pastas, vegetables, and sauces. The fresh mushroom lasagna was filled with frothy ricotta, and steaks, hamburgers, and salmon are grilled to order. A salad bar is central with buffalo mozzarella balls thought to be ordinary. Wine and beer are staples. It was like circulating to food stations at a wedding.

Water World

Flood plains and mud flats veined with rivers were our transition to Venice. In the 10th century it was a gateway to the Orient. Looking at a map I was surprised how close it is to Croatia. We crossed over the Gulf of Venice to the port where we were to park the car and meet the waterbus to our hotel. I would swear we were about to board a ride at Disney World. It was a demolition derby on water. Gondolas, water taxis, buses, barges, and private boats careened around bends, passed each other, and darted in and out of water alleys at a hair-raising 5 MPH. It wasn’t the speed but the skill and bravado that were fascinating.

We cruised the Grand Canal past exquisite but crumbling moldy villas built by wealthy merchants of long ago. Even they had wet basements. We were packed in with tourists, locals, and dogs as we made frequent stops. A peculiar odor hung in the air. I am told it’s the smell of decay, sewage, and garbage, Venetian perfume.

We debarked and were happy we’d only taken roll aboards since we had to walk about two blocks down three-foot wide streets to the hotel. We’re at Hotel Torino. It’s a three-star hotel and so is the Best Western nearby. The BW looks a lot nicer but I don’t know the price differential. Our desk clerk, Raimondo, an incurable flirt in his mid-50’s, told us we’re in the new section of the hotel. Perhaps it was new in 1700. Our “annex” was down the street, around the corner, and down a skinny alley. David thinks the rooms are nicer than The three-star King Hotel in Rome although there are issues with the plaster staying on some walls and mold in the shower. As we climbed the two stories in a building with ten-foot ceilings, we were once again glad to have packed light. It’s easy to find the alley where we turn for our annex. It’s by an exclusive children’s clothing store. Karen guessed the price of a six-month sized white leather fur trimmed snowsuit in the window at EU400. She was right. Venice isn’t for thin wallets or the faint of heart. A skein of silk yarn was $280. By the way, dollars are valued at 20% less than Euros.

We walked to the Piazza San Marco of the many pigeons, floating feathers, and tourists vying for a piece of late afternoon sun. Bands playing off-key renditions of “New York, New York” and Neil Diamond selections sat beneath palisades sheltered by, of all things, Venetian shades. The façade of the Basilica looms as the glittering mosaics catch the light. The piazza is as large as I imagined and at night it’s illuminate d by tall electric candlesticks on the balconies surrounding the perimeter.

The Doge, or Ducal, Palace flanks the Basilica. It was built between the 14th and mid-15th century and the designer used every trick he had up his sleeve. I didn’t know there was that much gold in the known world at that time. Every surface that isn’t gold, glistening wood or damask oozes marble. Can marble ooze? Walls and ceilings are bedecked with the sensual and sacred art of those days. Naked bodies cavort with and adore each other and God all over the darn place. We toured at the end of the day and had the entire palace to ourselves.

Not everything on the tour was bright and beautiful. We left the palace’s chamber of judgment and crossed the enclosed Bridge of Sighs, a 16th century addition, to the prison cells. The bridge was named for the prisoner’s sighs of despair as they crossed to trial.

Venice was a rebellious state reluctant to bow to Rome. It did try its hand at a modicum of democracy. There was a court of ten to try all litigation, a court of appeals, and a representative governing body made up of the males of patrician families regardless of wealth. From the torture chambers to the golden staircases, the Doge Palace was the center of the power, the glory, and the horror of the age.

We dined overlooking the Rialto Bridge and took a waterbus back to our hotel. The lights of the villas played on the water and the gentle rocking would have lulled us to sleep except for bumping the docks at each landing and the roar as the engines reversed to maneuver the boat. Gondola rides are out of the question at $100/hour and 50 degree temperatures. We’ll let others buy a bit of romance and freeze. We’ll watch.

Toby

Heading North

October 14, 2003-Italian Jews
(photos:David in synagogue pulpit-Pitigliano,
Piazza del Campo-Siena)

We found two Jewish souls in Pitigliano. They are custodians of the history and artifacts of a vanished community of five hundred. It was with the help of the general population of Pitigliano as well as Tuscany that they re-built the old temple in 1995 and preserved parts of the ghetto. It was a haven for Jews from the time of Count Orsini until the 16th century when the Medicis took control. After the Medici rule things were good until the Nazis came in 1939. The Jewish woman we spoke to in Hebrew said that the townspeople hid the Jews in the countryside and kept moving them to keep them safe. There’s a family photo of a bar mitzvah celebration on display and she’s in it. She was six at the time. The temple is used once a year when Jews from Livano bring their torah and hold services.

All the rooms we toured were subterranean. The mikvah (ritual bath), winemaking rooms, slaughterhouse, and matzo bakery are carved from rock and gave us the feeling of being in caves. The aroma of wine lingered in the storage room as a haunting reminder. The synagogue itself had a central bimah (pulpit) with burnished wood seating around it. The room was plain yet dignified with wrought iron chandeliers and stark white walls. We stopped at the operating bakery next door that had “sephardic Hebraica” style goods. Sephardic Jews were those who lived in the Mediterranean countries rather than Eastern Europe. We bought pastry, bread, and matzo made in the round lacey pattern shown in the photos we’d just seen.

Siena

We left for Siena with a mission to do the town up quickly and spend the night just beyond Florence. The topography changed from rich dark soil to a golden sand color as we went north. The crops had been harvested so it appeared that villas were marooned on sand dunes. David considers himself lucky that we only bought that ceramic fountain in Orvieto and not a villa. They’re entrancing and alluring, but so far, resistible. There was more industry along the road and the architecture changed from stone to stucco and brick. For those of you who remember our quest for black sheep in Australia you’ll be happy to know we did see one today in Tuscany.

We would have been more taken with Siena had we not seen Orvieto and Pitigliano. Siena lacks their charm and comes in a far 3rd. One of the great things about medieval towns is their curving streets and hills. That’s also one of the negatives. We trekked uphill most of the time and wandered every alley to find the Piazza del Campo. It’s said to be the prettiest square in Italy. I haven’t seen them all but I’ll take the word of the experts. It’s a large bricked piazza surrounded by colorful multi-storied buildings featuring a bell tower. The square has at times served as a Roman forum, a city market, a place of executions, and an arena for bull fights.

We paid homage to yet another Gothic-Romanesque Duomo. This one was started in the 13th century but construction had to stop due to the black plague. It took until the 15th century to complete. This exterior was wrapped in green and white stone stripes. The inlaid marble floors had elaborate pictures telling biblical tales and geometric optical illusion designs. Looking down from the ceiling were carved heads of all the popes to the time of completion. Karen thought it looked like a collection of bobblehead dolls. Michelangelo was to do several statues for the church but had only completed two when he got the commission for the David and went to Florence. We got a chuckle over the Piccolomini Library. The room was done with elaborate frescos but for those of you who went to camp you might remember a song whose only word was “piccolomini.” I never realized it was a person and a very wealthy one at that. There was a EU5.50 entry fee for the church and a EU0.50 charge to use the rest room. Even though this was a knock your socks off cathedral we resented the charges. The others had been free.

Signs and Portents

Speaking of socks, we ate a simple lunch of pasta and divine bruschetta and almost encountered a miracle or our own. I looked down at David’s right sock and thought it had blood on it. It turned out to be tomato from the bruschetta, but we thought we might be able to declare it the miracle of the bleeding sock. We imagined “sepulcher of the sock” and the “tomato stigmata.” It may have been because we were giddy but we were definitely irreverent. No, Karen didn’t wet her pants this time.

We found such a safe place for the car in a pay lot that it took us an hour of walking those darn hills and asking directions until we found it again. Little did we know but it was a portent of things to come. As we passed Florence and started looking for a place for the night we realized that all the hotels were booked. It was 9 PM when we pulled into Barbarino (as in Vinnie). We hadn’t panicked yet, but I was already trying to figure out how all four of us would sleep in the car. Ron and I had been turned away from six hotels and decided that we had bad karma. We sent Karen into the 7th and she got lucky. It’s a small family run place with a basket of children’s toys in the sitting room. I have no idea what the name of this hotel is. The bars of soap seem to indicate it might be Albergo Il Cavallo. Toothbrushes and paper slippers are provided in the rooms, which made us suspicious this might be a pay-by-the-hour establishment. It’s clean, the bathroom fixtures are new, and the shower doesn’t wet the floor. The rate is EU70 including breakfast. Life is good.

We’re in between heating and air-conditioning season here so I’ve started writing the emails in bed with the computer on my lap. It warms me up before I go to sleep. The temperature has been in the low 70’s during the day and down to high 50’s at night. It will probably get colder as we near Venice tomorrow. Gondolas ahoy!

Toby

Italian Dream World

Oct. 13, 2003-Orvieto
(photos:His & hers chastity belts,
Leaving Orvietto,
Pitigliano,
Alley in Pitigliano)

We shopped our way through Orvieto to Piazza Duomo and somehow fought off the urge to buy his and hers chastity belts. Each had leather waistbands from which hung straps that passed over organs and orifices. Gender appropriate openings were provided. The male version must have been the first jock strap. It provided a flexible metal penis sheath for protection or restriction.

The Duomo Cathedral is striped in gray and white stone, not the marble I mentioned in yesterday’s email. That aside, the interior is stunning. The main focus is a chapel for the adoration of a cloth upon which, in 1260, sacramental bread bled (try saying that fast). It has the ever-present scaffolding but in typical Italian fashion scaffolding has been elevated to high style. The fittings are all brass and set off the steel bars like jewels on a necklace.

The town attempts to address modern concerns while keeping its authenticity. They have wheel chair lifts up many of the ever-present steps but wheel chair ramps are cobblestone. Artisan’s ranging from metal smiths to jewelers and potters have shops lining the streets. I fell victim to a tall narrow ceramic fountain glazed in a riotous floral design. We bought it and it will be shipped home. It was costly so we rationalized that it’s my birthday present, our anniversary present, and a memento of our trip. Since our purchase, we’ve seen that style fountain in bronze used in the medieval towns. We also sat near one made of stone in a pizzeria tonight. I’m thrilled with it.
We were transfixed by the view as we left Orvieto. It hung over the valley like a haunting reminder of the past. Green hills rolled down to dark chocolate colored newly plowed fields and the grapevines glowed red and orange in the midday sun. We took nearly deserted country roads on our way to Pitigliano.

We stopped for lunch in Castelgiorgio. It’s so small that it wasn’t on our map. We set up the food on benches near a fountain and dug in. Today we added a local Umbrian cheese to our fare along with peppery-spiced tuna in a can, lovely salmon pate in a squeeze tube, and goat cheese. We then drove around Lake Bolsena and quaint stone villas with flowers cascading over balconies and molded plastic children’s slides in the yard. David was masterful as he drove around the switchback curves and didn’t flinch when we encountered a truck that was laden with what looked like pinecones or artichokes or hand grenades.

Pitigliano

Pitigliano was a welcome sight. We crossed a Roman bridge, pulled under a Roman arch in the Roman wall surrounding this hilltop town, and parked in front of a gift shop. The town dates from the early 1200’s and has typical narrow medieval winding streets and alleys. Between the architectural details, the light casting shadows on the stone walled buildings, and the most adorable cat population; we shot over two rolls of film.

The city is called Little Jerusalem and tons of information can be found on line. Although Jews have almost always been a presence, Pitigliano is famous for becoming a refuge in the 17th century and again during WWII. There’s a ghetto with a 16th century synagogue and a museum maintained by the three remaining Jewish families in town. Unfortunately it was closed today. We comforted ourselves by visiting a 13th century church and the local Duomo as well as eating gelato. It was late afternoon and we decided to spend the night here instead of driving the two hours to Siena and trying to find a room.

We didn’t even know if there was a local hotel but were directed to the Albergo Guastini. It is a two-star spotless gem costing EU57 a night. Black and gray marble floors and stenciled walls led past bright green doors to our room. Our green shuttered windows opened to the valley, bridge, and town walls. Swallows were flying at eye level and were so plentiful and frenetic we thought they might fly into our room. All that being wonderful, this is still a European hotel. No screens and the bath towels resemble tea towels on steroids. When I sit on the commode my knees are under the sink and my chin is on its rim.

We didn’t have far to chase sunset today. We sat on a marble bench in a nearby park and watched the blazing fireball turn the sky into what Karen described as an ocean of blue waves. The sun glowed orange, gold, then purpled and sank. The town began to come to life as lights popped on like camera flashes.

We returned to the bar next to our hotel and bought a bottle of spumante made in the town of Asti. It was wine time. Dinner was pizza but the antipasto was most unusual. It was fava beans, onions, and tiny strips of salmon in olive oil served with crusty bread.

The synagogue is open tomorrow. We’ll tour it then go on to Siena.

Toby

Navigating

Oct. 12, 2003-All In A Day
(photos:Roadside lunch,
Me in Juliet window)

As our 14-month old granddaughter Talia says, “Happy, happy, happy!” We ended yesterday sitting on the roof terrace using our binoculars to gaze at the Duomo, the full moon, and Mars, while drinking liqueur. We had lovely gnocchi and pasta Bolognese at Nuti’s, a highly recommended restaurant, and rolled into bed. No noisy neighbors, no loud TVs.

They have the cutest little three-wheeled cars here. They’re really enclosed scooters. There’s no steering wheel. The interior has handlebars and a seat just like a bike. There are also Smart cars that have four wheels and little else. To make up for lack of size the interiors are upholstered in amazing hues and designs. I thought they were electric but they do run on petrol.

We bought some pottery from an artist who had his own shop. He said that his brother had been in business with him but is now a taxi driver. He earns more money that way. As our daughter Wendy’s partner would say, ”That’s so wrong “

We tried to get into the Uffizi Gallery this morning but the wait was over an hour. It is the repository of the world’s largest collection of Renaissance art. It is also the home of Botticelli’s Venus. We were somewhat disappointed but had no choice. We had to get our rental car and head south.

It was not a good sign that there was a line out the door of the car rental office. There’s a twenty-four hour train-strike now and the stranded tourists were vying for transportation. We had a paid reservation but it still took an hour to finish the process. We ended up with an upgrade to a VW Passat. It’s a roomy little wagon and perfect for the four of us. They gave us very wrong directions back to our hotel where Karen, Ron, and luggage were waiting. We were in sight of the hotel but had to go around the block so we could park in front and load the luggage. We turned down one street that was blocked at the end and had to back out. The only way back was to find the Duomo Piazza and go from there. What we did was find the piazza, drive across the piazza and around the church, and make our way to the hotel. The only complication was that there are no cars allowed on the piazza. It would be like driving a car right up to the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. We wove around hoards of tourists narrowly missing the waiting horse drawn carriages as we squeezed between vendors’ stalls, and emerged on the other side without having killed anyone or been seen by the police.

Our hotel was better at directions and we quickly found highway A-1 to Rome. We were only going to Orvieto, but it was in the same direction. We had several choices of roads to Rome. You might be moved to say that all roads lead to Rome, but that would be a cliché. Unfortunately, we all thought and said that at the same time. We’re so clever.

All Roads

We stopped at a highway service plaza to buy bread and drinks. They have lovely groceries as well as restaurants and snack bars. We picnicked at a rest area that had tables under thatched roofs. We pretended they were sukkahs for the holiday of Sukkot.

The hills of Tuscany rolled out before us. Everything I have ever read and seen was proven true. Villas dotted the countryside. Dirt roads led my eyes around groves of cypress trees to stone walled red roofed houses that had been standing sentinel for centuries. We entered the region of Umbria and the hills rose higher. Our exit appeared and we watched as the car ahead of us navigated the automated toll machine. David followed suit only to have a mechanical voice chastise him for putting the paper money in upside down, or so we thought. The voice then told him that the machine didn’t have the EU5.50 in change he was due. It returned his note and scolded him once more. You have to understand that this one-way altercation was taking place in Italian. To clarify things the machine had a screen that provided the same instructions and diatribes….in Italian. It took all four of us to figure out what was happening every step of the way. And what was happening behind us? You may have read about it in the newspaper. We caused one of the largest traffic jams this town has known. In desperation we pressed a huge red button labeled, “Assisto” which we took to mean, “For Stupid Americans.” A voice attached to a real human responded and gave additional advice to no avail. All of a sudden the gate blocking us rose and the voice basically said in loosely translated Italian to “get the hell out of here and never come back.” David, being the good citizen that he is, pulled to the side of the road, got out of the car, and tried to find the body that went with the voice in order to pay the toll. It was not to be. We’re now the proud possessors of an unpaid toll ticket for the Autostrade. We’re convinced that these kinds of incidents happen to us so I’ll have something to write home.

Orvieto

Our hotel, Albergo Corso, in the Etruscan- Gothic-Romanesque walled hilltop town of Orvieto is everything it should be. We took the recommendation of Rick Steves in his guidebook. It has eighteen rooms and we got last two. The town is mobbed. Our room overlooks the street and has long windows with shutters. David went down to the street to take a Romeo and Juliet picture of me leaning out of the window. The Ron & Karen's room has a balcony and overlooks a rose garden. We spent some time watching a 160-year old woman meticulously picking dirt off her steps. Karen was ready to offer her free therapy. For those of you who don’t know her, Karen is a psychologist. This hotel is like a college dorm. We had our doors open and met our neighbors. They live in Seattle but he went to Western Reserve Academy in Hudson, Ohio, a stone’s throw from Akron.

The rooms are the size of a large walk-in closet. The bathroom has lovely marble floors and walls and is equipped with a European standard and a favorite of mine, crepe paper toilet paper. I have to step over the bidet to get into the shower. I used the shampoo provided by the hotel. The aroma wafting from my head suggested I might have used the mouthwash by mistake. The label assured me it was shampoo. My head smells like a walking advertisement for Listerine. The European convenience of being able to wash the bathroom floor when the shower is used is included at no charge.

We walked to the Duomo before dinner. Every town has one. They’re the requisite domed cathedrals. The side walls of this one are horizontally striped in gray and white marble. Ron said it reminded him of mattress ticking. Karen thought it looked like a prison uniform. We will explore the inside tomorrow. David and I went in search of sunset and failed to find a good place to watch while Karen bought a nice wine. We finished the bottle and staggered off to dinner.

The pasta was homemade but our server was sullen. I think she was turned off when we asked if she spoke English. English tourists aren’t that common here but other natives have been friendly and have made an effort to help. We even had to use French to negotiate a wine tasting. I don’t know if it was because we needed translations or we didn’t order wine, but she studiously ignored us and brought our food only after reminding and prompting from us. We let her know we noticed her rudeness and wondered if we’d done anything to cause it. She denied any problem. Service was not included on the bill and, uncharacteristically, we left no tip. Tired, tired, tired. We made it to bed early at last.

Toby

Forever Florence

October 11, 2003-Night From Hell
(photo:Ciro's al fresco)

We returned to the hotel after an appropriately late dinner so I was writing the email until 1 AM. I dropped into bed and thought I’d pass out. My nose began to twitch when I detected an unpleasant odor. The sheets smelled like urine. It was probably a chemical in the detergent they use but the association was unavoidable. As I nodded off at 2 AM an argument erupted in the hall near our room. It might have been interesting to listen to if it wasn’t in Italian. It eventually died down and I drifted off once again. At 3 AM the person in the room next to us returned. There was a toilet flush, water sounds, silence, and then the TV was cranked up loud enough for us to enjoy every word… except it was in Italian, of course.

My quiet fuming became desperation when I remembered a friend who had to keep the TV on in order to sleep. This was impossible to accept so I took what I considered to be a logical step. I called the desk and told them about the noise. They assured me they’d come upstairs and speak to our neighbor. Time limped along and no one came to our rescue. I called the desk again and explained that I would call the room myself but didn’t speak Italian. I once again asked for their intervention. This time they carried through on their promise. At 4 AM the TV was silenced. We had to be up at 8:15 AM. Four hours sleep is a long nap. We felt sorry for ourselves and remembered back to the last time we had noisy neighbors. It was during our stay in Australia. It was just after midnight when we called the management to complain. It was Sept. 12th in Australia. It was Sept. 11th in the U.S. That’s how we learned about the 9/11attack on the World Trade Center.

Sukkot Italiano

Amazingly we functioned quite well on no sleep. We walked to the old synagogue for services. It’s Sukkot, a harvest festival when Jews build temporary shelters resembling those in which Israelites lived while wandering in the desert for forty years. The synagogue and adjacent school were behind a twenty-foot high elaborate iron gate. There was a security check of our bags and we had to check our cameras. The exterior of the domed building was made of alternating strips of tan and terra cotta color marble. The interior was Moorish. Restoration was going on and scaffolding was as much a part of the synagogue as it is in the churches here. The floors were marble in geometric patterns and stars of David. Every surface of walls and ceilings were painted with multi-hued intricate designs. Think Tangier Restaurant if you live in Akron. Think Plum Street Temple in Cincinnati if you know it. Think Alhambra if you’ve been to Spain. Think psychedelic if you remember the 70’s.

It’s an orthodox synagogue so Karen and I dutifully went up two flights of steps to a musty gallery for women. When we stood we could peer through a wrought iron screen at the activity below but when seated our view was blocked by a low wall. There were few women upstairs. We later found out there was a women’s section behind a screen on the ground floor. In all, there were over one hundred people attending including several children.

The service was all in Hebrew, which is the beauty of being able to worship anywhere in the world. The Catholics made a big mistake by doing away with Latin. The torah covers were tapestry and were fuller than the tailored ones we use. They were gathered at the top, flared at the hem, and covered the scrolls much as a dress would. A strong and melodic all male choir enhanced by the natural acoustics completed the picture. The words were the same but tunes were different. It was like trying to sing the lyrics of Oklahoma to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner. The sermon was preached from an elevated pulpit like those seen in cathedrals. I’m sure every word of the sermon was clear as a bell but since it was in Italian we didn’t benefit from the message.

On our way out David wanted to make a donation. It was an awkward moment. Some of the men wouldn’t take money on the Sabbath but didn’t want to miss out. One suggested we mail it to them. Another decided to find someone who would take the money but wanted to be sure we were comfortable that it would in fact go to the synagogue and not in that man’s pocket.

Chianti Giggles

We headed for the central market near Piazza San Lorenzo and marveled at how the faces of the people on the street resembled those in the paintings of the old masters we’d seen in the museums. We’re staying in the old city center so all the buildings are old to ancient. The entry doors are twenty feet high, heavily carved wood, and framed in massive stones arches. We shopped for tomorrow’s lunch, which will be a roadside picnic. A woman from Wash., DC who left the U.S. after 9/11 waited on us. We bought fruit, tomatoes, a myriad of dried fruit, and tasted olive oils and balsamic vinegars. Depending on the age with older being better the vinegar could cost as much as $80. It was so sweet that Italians use it as an ice-cream topping. At the stand across the aisle we bought an aged peccorino cheese, fresh goat cheese, Parmesan, and mozzarella.

We lunched at Ciro and Sons enjoying their fine Neapolitan pizza this time. We downed a bottle of Chianti and joked around with the adorable brothers. We lost count of how many there are but each one is sweeter and cuter than the next. We told them that we’d send them the picture we took of them the other night when a friend of ours is in Florence on business in November. They were thrilled and are looking forward to it. I don’t know what set us off. Maybe it was the Chianti, but we were laughing so hard that by the time we got back to the hotel Karen had wet her pants. She gave me permission to tell you all that.

We went back to the market area to do schlock shopping at the outside stalls. There were no bargains but some of the items were cheap and attractive. Karen and I wandered into a hole-in-the-wall grocery store. How small was it? The aisles were so narrow we couldn’t pass each other without Karen almost knocking over a display of toilet paper. That set off the giggles again. I guess we’re going to do laundry more frequently than planned.

Toby

Making Like Tourists

Oct. 10, 2003-Busy AM
(photos:da Vinci's experimental wings,
David)

We took bus tours in the morning and afternoon with a break for lunch. We wore color-coded stickers and watched as a Nazi masquerading as a tour-guide “defrocked” one couple by removing their stickers. They were herded off our bus and directed across the piazza to theirs.

One of the best shows in town is the tour bus drivers. We had ringside seats as our driver put our behemoth of a bus into spaces and places where a betting person would take odds it would never fit. At one point we couldn’t navigate a turn so after much debate and gesturing the driver of the bus behind us unceremoniously picked up and moved the parked motor-scooter that was in the way.

We crisscrossed the River Arno where the only original bridge not destroyed by the Germans in WWII was the Ponte Vecchio. The river floods every century but we’re safe for a while. The last flood was 1966. Almost as an afterthought our guide pointed out the house “where Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote and died.” We climbed cypress-lined boulevards past villas that were used as embassies in the 19th century when Florence was the capital of Italy. Our destination was Michelangelo Square for a panoramic view of the city.

The Renaissance was born here in the 15th century. Rival bankers of the Medicis built the Pitti Palace but the Medicis eventually bought them out. I have never seen so many chandeliers in one palace. Each room was festooned with them to the point where I wondered if a previous tenant was afraid of the dark. The Palatine Gallery is housed in what were the former winter quarters. A few of the artists represented were Fra Lippo Lippi, Rubens, Raphael, Caravaggio, and Titian. One depicted the martyrdom of St. Agatha. She was carrying her severed breasts on a tray before her. Without missing a beat the guide said it was, “ typical of Catholic tradition.” One of my favorite portraits was a Raphael in which he used thirty shades of white to paint the folds and nuances of a sleeve on a gown.

Ancient Florence was a grand city in Roman times. It was rich with marble temples and public buildings. The Christians helped themselves to the marble as they took over. The result is that church facades are covered in that marble. The Duomo is bedecked with said marble in shades of green and white with a touch of pink for accent. The Duomo, the bell tower, and the Baptistery were constructed between the 13th and 15th centuries. There was a contest to see who could create an economical design for the dome. The winning architect also had to devise the engineering of scaffolding and pulleys needed to bring his ideas to fruition. As elaborate as the exterior is, the interior is simple and Gothic. The Ghibertti bronze door of the Baptistery depicting the Gates of Paradise was something I longed to see since freshman art history class. It’s a shining, detailed depiction of classic biblical stories wrought in metal. The one I lovingly gazed at was a reproduction by a Japanese TV network. The original is in the church museum. If the guide hadn’t told us that fact I would have happily thought I’d seen the original and would be content in my ignorance. So much for disclosure.

There’s no security to speak of here. We waltzed into museums, palaces, and churches without so much as a metal detector or bag search. Cameras were permitted everywhere but using them was sometimes forbidden. Most tourists ignored the signs. Being law abiding Americans we complied and neither snapped nor flashed.

It was laundry day for our friends. They’d been traveling for eight days so we decided to throw our dirties in and do wash together. Now that’s friendship. Their eight days in Italy also left them with a taste for something other than Italian food. We will never eat Chinese in Italy again. Mediocre comes to mind.

Our email event for the day was that I’d accidentally (who would do it on purpose?) deleted the group in my email address book. I had to re-create it on the spot. It was annoying but not a “fatal error.”

Crammed PM

Our afternoon tour took us to Fiesole, a hilltop town dating back to the Etruscans and the 8th century BC. The Etruscans were marvelous engineers and artists but the Romans whipped them in battle. Fiesole was the home of Leonardo da Vinci and the place where he first experimented with flying machines. It’s no wonder he was inspired to fly. Everything is uphill. Fiesole was thought to be a safe haven during the Black Plague and a home and inspiration to Boccacio and Milton who wrote, respectively, the Decameron and Paradise Lost while living there.

The man sitting behind us on the bus was a character or perhaps he’s mentally ill. He’s from Columbia, Maryland and is retired from the Dept. of Transportation in Wash., DC. He learned Spanish, French, and Italian at night school so he could read books in their original languages. He said he never comes out of his basement anymore. He has all his books down there and it seems that he even eats there. He didn’t want to travel, but his daughter prevailed and sent him on a solo grand tour of Europe. It seemed like a form of shock therapy for an agoraphobic. By the way, he hears the voice of Joan of Arc.

Our stop at the Church of the Holy Cross was a study in name-dropping. Everyone who was anyone is buried there: Galileo, Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli, Rossini. I paced as our guide rambled on in an inaudible voice. I felt as if I was held captive in Catholic churches today. We only went into three but a few go a long way.

At last we were released for our last destination, The Academy Gallery of Fine Arts. It’s the present home of the original (no copies here) Michelangelo’s David. Our friend, Karen, was so excited to see it in the marbleized flesh that I was sure she would genuflect on the spot. Before we could enter the “holy of holies” we had to pay our dues and pretend to be interested in paintings and sculpture in other galleries. Our guide explained that other sculptors made plaster prototypes before working in the marble. Michelangelo alone could release his creations from the marble without prelude and trials. He believed that the form was in the marble waiting to be released. He was twenty-nine years old when his David emerged full grown and set Michelangelo’s career course. We still had not spied the David when we entered a narrow gallery of unfinished works. I noticed that Karen had disappeared. When I looked for her my eyes went to the end of that gallery to a domed room. There he was, David, in all his sinewy glory with Karen sitting worshipfully (in a chair) at his feet. He’s as lovely as his photos, but more powerful. He towers, glowers, threatens, and hypnotizes. His stark white body is a study in perfection…almost. His hands and head are proportionately over-sized. He’s been damaged but patiently waits next to the scaffolding that permits experts to minister to him. His dignity intact, he dominates now and forever. Amen.

Toby