Slowing Down
Well, it has happened. We finally crashed and burned, and have emerged from the wreckage with a kinder, gentler plan. So many medieval cities in a row, all packed with irresistable art treasures and magnificent works of food, and yet, we've grown tired of packing, moving and learning a new city every four or so days. It does not sound like a fast pace, but it is. So we have cancelled our trip deep into Sicily for later in the month, and are going to chill in the Aeolian islands for a full seven days in low season. Palermo and Erice will have to wait for another day.
We are now in Florence, and I can see why the city made Stendahl swoon to the point where he needed medical attention. We have climbed the 435 steps to the top of Brunelleschi's dome, and have seen the Renaissance works that I taught in Humanities class years ago--the lovely frescoes of Fra' Angelico, Massacio and Lippi, the lovely Botticellis and Raphaels, too many Madonnas to count, and Michaelangelo's David.
And I've seen my personal favorites, Artemesia Gentilleschi's two paintings of Judith and her maidservant during and after the gory removal of Holofernes head, wielding the huge sword, pulling away from the spatters on her arms and neck, two sturdy and determined women. I loved that in the next room at the Pitti Palace is the sylph-like Judith by Cristofano Allori, gently holding the nasty head near her spotless golden silk gown, with a look of peaceful composure on her delicate face--this Judith could not squash a Florentine mosquito.
UNESCO says that 50% of the world's great works of art are in Italy, and I think that 96% of them are in Florence, and, silly me! I thought five days would be comfortable! Yesterday we retreated a bit--only two greats (David and the tiny Brancacci Chapel). We shopped a little on the Ponte Vecchio.
We found Beatrice Galli, who says she has "lived in the yarn all my life." She has a lovely yarn shop on the Arno, just beyond the Ponte Vecchio, and we just happened to see her knitting there through the window. She has lived and worked there for 39 years, fifteen of them doing custom knitting with a machine, before she gave it up and returned to handwork. Her grandmother taught her to knit when she was six. Now, she never leaves, not even in August, she explained, because her customers expect her to be there. She showed us the flowers on her deck, and let Dan take a picture of her stunning view. And she is on top of things--you can even order over the internet.
Someone will have a pair of socks for Christmas, because I bought some more yarn for our slow time in Tuscany and the Islands. Beatrice picked it out, and she knows who they are for, but I'm not telling you!
. . . and we took shelter from a tiny rainshower in a gelato shop--Dan finally found riso flavor, and I went for the limoncello.
And we capped off Florence with a dinner in our little Piazza San Pier Maggiore at Restaurant Natalino. Our waiter, Paolo, who we thought owned the place, but no, is "laborato, professionista, ma laborato," said it's been a restaurant since Napoleon. The ravioli with duck sauce, oh, my oh my! And the translation on the menu said 'meatloaf,' but don't you believe it.
So we're back on track. Dan's cold is waning, I'm getting it and getting over it in my typical fashion. I am the goddess of the four-hour cold, and am still proving to be pretty bulletproof.
Gotta run! Next train in two hours! But soon, I'll tell you about the burrata I missed in Venice.
We are now in Florence, and I can see why the city made Stendahl swoon to the point where he needed medical attention. We have climbed the 435 steps to the top of Brunelleschi's dome, and have seen the Renaissance works that I taught in Humanities class years ago--the lovely frescoes of Fra' Angelico, Massacio and Lippi, the lovely Botticellis and Raphaels, too many Madonnas to count, and Michaelangelo's David.
And I've seen my personal favorites, Artemesia Gentilleschi's two paintings of Judith and her maidservant during and after the gory removal of Holofernes head, wielding the huge sword, pulling away from the spatters on her arms and neck, two sturdy and determined women. I loved that in the next room at the Pitti Palace is the sylph-like Judith by Cristofano Allori, gently holding the nasty head near her spotless golden silk gown, with a look of peaceful composure on her delicate face--this Judith could not squash a Florentine mosquito.
UNESCO says that 50% of the world's great works of art are in Italy, and I think that 96% of them are in Florence, and, silly me! I thought five days would be comfortable! Yesterday we retreated a bit--only two greats (David and the tiny Brancacci Chapel). We shopped a little on the Ponte Vecchio.
We found Beatrice Galli, who says she has "lived in the yarn all my life." She has a lovely yarn shop on the Arno, just beyond the Ponte Vecchio, and we just happened to see her knitting there through the window. She has lived and worked there for 39 years, fifteen of them doing custom knitting with a machine, before she gave it up and returned to handwork. Her grandmother taught her to knit when she was six. Now, she never leaves, not even in August, she explained, because her customers expect her to be there. She showed us the flowers on her deck, and let Dan take a picture of her stunning view. And she is on top of things--you can even order over the internet.
Someone will have a pair of socks for Christmas, because I bought some more yarn for our slow time in Tuscany and the Islands. Beatrice picked it out, and she knows who they are for, but I'm not telling you!
. . . and we took shelter from a tiny rainshower in a gelato shop--Dan finally found riso flavor, and I went for the limoncello.
And we capped off Florence with a dinner in our little Piazza San Pier Maggiore at Restaurant Natalino. Our waiter, Paolo, who we thought owned the place, but no, is "laborato, professionista, ma laborato," said it's been a restaurant since Napoleon. The ravioli with duck sauce, oh, my oh my! And the translation on the menu said 'meatloaf,' but don't you believe it.
So we're back on track. Dan's cold is waning, I'm getting it and getting over it in my typical fashion. I am the goddess of the four-hour cold, and am still proving to be pretty bulletproof.
Gotta run! Next train in two hours! But soon, I'll tell you about the burrata I missed in Venice.
posted by Cheese Mite at 11:59 PM
2 Comments:
first I was thinking rice flavored ice cream, ick, then I googled it and saw it was like rice pudding ice cream, that sounds delish.
enjoy the islands!
Oh, I'm glad that you have time to cool your heels in one spot. I will be happy to inform Mitchell that the lady with the knitting machine gave it up... he's only excited about knitting if there is some widget involved that does it faster!
House update: we're settling in well and are going furniture-scouting this weekend. We are holding off on light fixtures until your return - we have both decided that you picked Very Beautiful things for your house and want your input. Dave and Anne are still moving in - Truman had a pretty seamless transfer between caretakers. Have fun in Italy!
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