il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno cinque

Day Five

Back in Florence for the day; these days are going by so fast it’s hard to believe the trip is almost over.

We start our day in our own neighborhood, walking to the nearby church of Santa Maria Novella., but darn it, it isn’t open yet to the public. We make a detour into the Officina Profumo, a shop that sells perfumes and other aromatherapy products that were originally produced by the friars of Santa Maria Novella.

Our itinerary says that we next go on to the Ponte Vecchio, but we tell Elisabetta that we’ve already seen it. Elisabetta quickly adapts, leading us through narrow alleys and streets to show us some other interesting spots. She takes us to the church of Santa Trinita. It’s smaller than many of the other churches we have seen, but it has incredibly beautiful chapels. The church itself seems untouched by time and has a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

Next, we visit the Palazzo Davanzati. This is a medieval residence that has been restored to look as it might have during the Renaissance. Unlike the other palazzi we have visited, this one has the real look of a lived-in house. When we walk in, Elisabetta says to me, “look up”. When I do, I see that the staircases look like something out of an M.C. Escher work. Incredible.

We also squeeze in a quick look at the Orsanmichele, a church converted from a former grain market. This was a trade church, where the various trade groups competed to express their devotion through commissioning statues of representative saints.

There’s still more to see, so Elisabetta leads us across the river to the Oltr’arno district. This district has more of a neighborhood feel, with fewer tourists filling the streets. We walk past Santo Spirito, getting a glimpse of the beautiful cloistered garden. The piazza in front has a lovely fountain, and a few street vendors nearby are selling things like honey and prosciutto. This feels like we’re in a true Italian neighborhood. We finally arrive at the Brancacci Chapel, famous for—guess what!—its frescos featuring the life of Saint Peter.

After all this walking and all these churches, we are ready for a break. We have lunch at il Cantinone. Once again, I choose something I would never eat at home: Degustazione di formaggi pecorini toscani con mostarda di fichi e miele al tartufo—also known as “Assorted mix Sheep’s milk cheese with truffle honey and fig mustard”, and let me tell you, it was good. I also try pappa al pomodoro, a tomato soup thickened with bread. The flavor is really intense and spicy and the texture of the soup is almost, but not quite, like a puree. Add some chianti and tiramisu for dessert, and I’m one satisfied diner.

Reinvigorated, we make our way to the nearby Palazzo Pitti. Yet another Medici palace, and in some ways the Florentine version of Versailles, the Pitti is now an art museum, but one that showcases the artworks that the Medici collected over the years. The art is arranged not by style or era or artist, as it might be in a traditional museum; instead, the pieces are displayed as hung by the previous generations of Medici. Elisabetta and I debate the merits of Renaissance versus Baroque art, but she agrees with me that the Rubens canvas is pretty spectacular. I also find it amusing that the section of the museum devoted to “modern” art begins with artwork from the 18th century.

At the end of our tour, we say goodbye to Elisabetta, and I feel very sad. I’ve so enjoyed spending time with her; it feels like I’m saying goodbye to a new friend.

That evening, the three of us go to dinner at I’Brindellone, a neighborhood trattoria that Elisabetta recommended. When we show the cab driver where we want to go, he tells us he’s eaten there too—how can you go wrong with the local cab driver’s recommendation? Florence and I decide to be brave and order the bistecca fiorentina. This is a local specialty—a giant steak from a certain breed of cattle. The minimum size order at our restaurant is 1 kg, or 2.2 pounds. Oof. The steak arrives, and it is enormous—at least two fingers thick, filling the entire dinner plate. It is served very rare (I’m usually a medium-well kind of steak eater), but I do my best. And yes, it is delicious.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno quattro

Day Four…ROAD TRIP!

Today’s the day we hit the road to see a little bit of the surrounding countryside. Our guide today is Alessia and she comes along with a driver, Mario. We head south out of town, through some of the more suburban parts of Florence; we get a glimpse into more of the everyday neighborhoods—apartment buildings, car washes, laundromats.

Soon we are on the freeway headed to Siena. The countryside looks just like you might imagine the Italian countryside to look—rolling hills covered with fields of sunflowers, grapevines, or olive trees. Cypress trees punctuate the landscape, and just about every hilltop is crowned by a villa. There are, of course, more modern going concerns along the way—auto dealerships, gas stations, and stores called “Coop” which look like they might be like a Wal-Mart or Costco.

Eventually we arrive at Siena, a beautiful Tuscan city that is also a designated World Heritage Site. Here we meet our local guide, Cristina, who is a native of the city. Like many Tuscan cities, Siena is a hill town, and Cristina has us marching up narrow, steep streets.

Siena is also known for its traditional horse races, called Palio, dating back to the 1600s. Twice each summer, different districts, or contrade, sponsor a horse and rider in a breakneck race around the public square, known as the Campo. When we see the Campo, it’s hard to imagine that upwards of 25,000 people cram into such a small area.

From the Campo, we walk over to the Duomo. It looks like a wedding cake or maybe Barbie’s DreamHouse Duomo. Inside is even more spectacular, with columns of tiered marble, floors decorated with inlaid marble, and a library with the most elaborately frescoed walls and ceiling. One wall is hung with plaques and silver hearts and assorted objects like baby bibs and motorcycle helmets, all given in thanks for prayers answered. It reminds me that these glorious, historic cathedrals are still very much workaday churches for the people who live there.

After Siena, we travel to a local winery for lunch. Fattoria La Tancia is a family-run business, apparently, and like everything else I’ve seen so far, looks just exactly how you would expect a family-run Italian winery to look. It’s a lovely, sunny day, and we sit on the terrace under an awning. Lunch is simple, but delicious—bruschetta, pasta arrabiata, and salumi e formaggio—along with several bottles of wines to sample. We end the meal with cantucci (what we call biscotti) that we dip into glasses of vin santo, a sweet dessert wine.

At one point, they bring out grandma to sit in the shade outside, and she looks just exactly like you would expect a little Italian nonna to look. Florence starts serenading the grandmother (who, we are told, has poor eyesight and hearing) with a rousing version of Que Sera Sera (and having just gotten to know Florence a little bit, this is exactly what I would expect Florence to do. By day four, I’ve gotten used to it.); Nonna reacts by clamping her hands over her ears. Really, when you are old and Italian, I think you are allowed to dispense with politeness.

We are full and sleepy, but we have miles still to go, so we say goodbye and climb back into the van (did I mention that it is a Mercedes-Benz van? Because that’s how we roll.). Now it’s off to San Gimignano, an ancient Etruscan town that still has many of its medieval towers standing. On the outskirts, the driver pulls over to let us take some photos; it’s like a picture postcard.

The town itself is small, with one main street leading to an open piazza. The street is lined with shops, mostly catering to tourists, and the street is full of tourists. In many ways, it reminds me of a village in Door County, say, Fish Creek or Sister Bay. You have the cute boutiques selling art or jewelry or ice cream or gourmet foods. But the scenery, oh, the scenery. I walk to the Ponte Panoramico (the “Panoramic Bridge”) and look over the beautiful rolling hills of Tuscany. Nearby, under a yellow sunshade, a guitarist plays gypsy jazz. I can picture myself living here.

Back to the hotel in the late afternoon, and we rest up before heading out for dinner. It’s typical to eat dinner late here—no earlier than 7:30 p.m., and true locals sometimes even wait until after 8:30 p.m. Alessia has given us several recommendations, and we end up at Trattoria ZaZas, near San Lorenzo. I throw caution to the wind and order pappardelle al cinghiale, which is pasta with wild boar sauce. Yep, that’s right. Wild. Boar. As in pig. Now some of you will be shocked to learn that I, known to avoid most pork products, would choose such a dish, but you know what? I’m in Italy. And part of traveling means stepping outside of your usual habits. Besides, I’ve eaten haggis, so what could be so bad? I can tell you that cinghiale pretty much tastes like roast pork. So there.

In the piazza, there are several cafes, all with outdoor seating, so it feels lively and fun. A strolling gypsy band walks by and plays music for everyone. I’m surprise, though, when one of the musicians walks around the tables and holds out a cup for tips. Not that I mind giving a little money, but it just seems very bold. Still, it’s a lovely evening, and we have fun watching what looks like a bachelorette dinner across from us.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno tre

Day Three


No oversleeping for me today; I’m up bright and early. Today we are off to immerse ourselves in the glory of Renaissance art in the Uffizi Gallery. The Uffizi is another creation of the Medicis. It was originally built to house the administrative offices (or “Uffizi”) for the Medici government. When the Medici dynasty died out, the last of the Medicis, Anna Maria Ludovica, willed her family’s great wealth and treasure to the people of Florence in perpetuity.

Elisabetta is totally in her element here. She explains all the finer points of Cimabue’s Madonna versus Giotto’s Madonna versus some other guy’s Madonna. While it can feel a bit overwhelming, keeping all the Adorations and the Annunciations and the Ascensions straight, Elisabetta’s enthusiasm and eye for detail makes me appreciate these beautiful artworks in a way I could have never done on my own.

And here, in the following rooms, as some of the most famous and beautiful paintings I know. Here are Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and Primavera. There are Leonardos, Michelangelos, Titians,, and Raphaels. Elisabetta teaches us about Fra Filippo Lippi, the monk who fell in love with a nun and painted her and their children as Madonna and Child.

While the height of Florentine art occurred in the 1500s, the Uffizi has a few later pieces. I see two paintings by Rubens and an incredibly dramatic Sacrifice of Isaac by Caravaggio.

All this art has made us hungry, so we have lunch at the Trattoria il Porcellino, near the Mercato Nuovo. This lunch, a first course of pasta al pomodoro and a main course of steak and roast potatoes, is probably our least favorite of the week.

After lunch, we wander down to the Ponte Vecchio, the most famous bridge in Florence. This bridge was built in the 1300s and it was the only bridge in Florence not destroyed by the Germans in WWII, supposedly by the direct order of Hitler. As in times past, the bridge is lined by shops, most of which sell gold jewelry.

There is the most wonderful smell wafting through the area from shops near the bridge. As a quick snack, these places sell waffles, cooked on griddles right near the street. They are sold with a variety of toppings, including my favorite, Nutella.

Ann and I drop Florence back at the hotel for a rest, and the two of us go back to the Duomo and to the Duomo’s museum, housed in a separate building nearby. There we see statues, gargoyles, crucifixes, and various other pieces that at one time were part of the Duomo. There is a statue of Mary Magdalene by Donatello that gives me the shivers with its stark, almost modern style.

Have I mentioned the reliquaries? Every church and church museum has dozens of them on display. They are incredible works of art, made of silver, gems, and rock crystal. Unfortunately, most of them still contain their original relics—including at least one jawbone and something that looks like a chicken heart.

For dinner that night, we wander back to the Piazza della Repubblica, and on a nearby side street, we find La Posta. As usual, we choose to dine outside. I have the most incredible meal of gnocchi with gorgonzola and fiori fritti—fried zucchini flowers.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno due

Day Two

The ringing telephone wakes me up. My room is pitch dark, and I blunder around before I find the phone. It's Ann, one of my fellow travelers. They missed me at breakfast; I've overslept. What time is it? After 8 a.m.--I was supposed to meet them for breakfast at 7:30 a.m., and we're supposed to meet our tour guide at 9 a.m. in the lobby. Oops. When motivated, I don't take long to get ready, so I dash in the shower, zip upstairs for a quick breakfast, and make it to the lobby with time to spare.

We meet Elisabetta, our private tour guide for the week. She is very nice and speaks English with a British intonation and a slight Italian accent. We find out later that her father is Italian, but her mother is English.

Florence is flat, and almost all the sights are within walking distance. Over the next week, we will walk walk walk walk. Elisabetta takes us first to the district of San Lorenzo and the Mercato Centrale. This market is a covered building, something like the Pike Place Market in Seattle, only without the fish tossing. There are vendors selling every kind of Italian food you can imagine--from wine, olives, cheese, to fruits and vegetables, and an astonishing array of meat...ducks, chickens with the feet on, organ meat; it's like a biology lab in there.

The San Lorenzo street market is interesting, but a little touristy. Sellers have these big carts where they sell t-shirts, scarves, shoes, leather goods, trinkets, you name it. Most of these vendors appear to be immigrants, either African, Asian, or Middle Eastern, and we are advised to bargain hard if we want anything.

We walk through the side streets and alleys to the Accademia, which is where Michelangelo's David lives. It's right at this moment that it becomes apparent why we have a tour guide--the line of people waiting to get in stretches around the block. But we have a reserved entry time, so we pop right in.
And there he is--David. He's become quite a cliche over the years--tacky plastic statues, refrigerator magnets with dress-up clothes--but standing here in front of him, you understand why he's a masterpiece. Elisabetta, who has a background in art history, talks to us about his proportions, his stance, what Michelangelo conveyed through his art. As we walk around the statue, I find myself in tears. "Do you ever get tired of seeing him?" I ask Elisabetta. Never, she replies.

On our way back to San Lorenzo, we take a coffee/Diet Coke break at a sidewalk cafe. Then we move on to the Medici Chapels, where most of the Medici family are buried. We walk into the Chapel of the Princes, which is entirely clad in marble, inlaid with colored stone. We also see the New Sacristy which has tombs with figures carved by Michelangelo.

We have lunch in a nearby cafe--Florence doesn't just have "restaurants"...there are ristorantes, trattorias, osterias, rosticcerias, wine bars, places labeled "self service" that look kind of like cafeterias, gelaterias, and panini shops. There are very few ethnic restaurants; over the week, I notice one Indian and one Chinese place. When I ask our guide about this, she said that Italian people just seem to like their own food best. And really, who can argue?

Anyway, our lunch is served by the fluently-Italian-speaking Ryan from Canada. My first course is pasta with pomodoro sauce, although this is nothing like the tomato sauce we have in jars. This is basically diced tomatoes and seasonings, and it is delicious. This is followed by a tortino tomate verde (green tomato tart), which turns out to be a little like a quiche. This is accompanied by a lovely glass of Brunello wine. Wine accompanies just about everything here.

After lunch, it's over to the Duomo and a look at the famous gilded doors of the Battistero, a separate building that was used for adult baptisms. And then it was on to Santa Croce, where I imagine Lucy Honeychurch without her Baedeker. Here we threw ourselves into the whole grab bag of experience--seeing the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, Dante, Rossini, and Macchiavelli. There were frescos, frescos, and more frescos, still beautiful and vivid even after 500 years. I also got to see the Cimabue crucifix that I had read about in the book Dark Water. Even badly damaged, it is still beautiful.

The Santa Croce district used to be home to many leatherworkers, and Florence is famous for its leather goods. Part of the church complex includes the Scuola del Cuoio, the Leather School. There were incredibly beautiful pieces of leatherwork on display--shoes, purses, belts, and you could go into various little rooms and buy directly from the artisans. There was also a wall of autographed photos from famous celebrites who had visited, including Noah Wylie and Jeanne Crain. Really!

Elisabetta leads us through alleys and lanes, showing us interesting little sights along the way--the church where Dante's Beatrice is buried, the building that was built on top of the foundations of the ancient Roman amphitheater. She also takes us to her favorite gelateria; on her recommendation, I get a cono piccolo of chioccolata. Now, I'm not usually a fan of chocolate ice cream, but this was outstanding.

That night, the three of us were on our own for dinner. We wandered around the streets for a little while, and finally ended up in the Piazza della Repubblica. There we chose Le Giubbe Rosse (The Red Jackets), where we ordered pizza and drank wine. The waiter, an older man, asked us where we were from. "New York", said the two ladies. "Wisconsin", I said, and the waiter gave me an odd look. "Near Chicago?" I added. The waiter smiled and said that when he was 19 years old, he spent "a beautiful day and a beautiful night in Rome with a girl from Wisconsin. That was 54 years ago." Every time he walked by our table, he'd shake his head and say, "Ah, Wisconsin", remembering his long ago romance. Somehow, the nostalgic romance of that story seemed just perfect for our dinner on the piazza.

It was also on this night that I had my quintessential Italian moment. As we were eating pizza margherita and drinking Chianti under the awning of the cafe, a young woman, accompanied by an accordionist, began singing opera under the loggia of the building across the piazza. My first full day in Italy has a wonderful ending.

il mio viaggio in Italia, giorno uno

Day one

Due to an airline schedule change (thanks, Delta!), I can no longer fly with my group out of JFK. Instead, I fly to Detroit, from there to Paris, and from there to Pisa. It means 24+ hours of flying, but at least it breaks up the flights a little. The Detroit airport is very nice, and I spend my layover walking the terminal, thinking it will be the last chance I'll have for awhile to move around.

Layover in Paris: Charles De Gaulle airport (CDG) stinks. There, I've said it. Ugly building, confusing signage. I leave Terminal 1 to find a shuttle bus to Terminal 4. There are two other Americans waiting at the bus stop, too, but they aren't real chatty. They're telling me that they are on their way to Orvieto, Spain, when a woman comes up and starts asking us questions in French. "Sorry" is all I can say. One of the American guys says, "Well, all I heard was autobus" and then looking at me, says, "Well, at least you look like you might be French!" The people at Lands End (where I bought my blouse) would be so proud!

Terminal 4 is clearly not the high-end terminal. There's one bathroom, one duty-free shop, one bookstore, and one snack bar. I glug down a Diet Coke (or Coca-Cola Light, as they call it in Europe) and settle in for the three hour wait. You can't drift off here, because as the automated PA voice helpfully points out, they don't announce flights in order to minimize the noise. So you have to keep checking the departures board to find out when your flight is boarding.

Hurray, just 24 hours since I left home, and I've landed in Pisa. Now to buy a train ticket, find the train station, and get on the train for Florence. I confidently try out my elementary Italian on the ticket clerk. "Uno biglietto a Firenze Santa Maria Novella, per favore". He is impassively unimpressed, but I get my ticket. Now where the heck is the train station? I follow the signs, but they mysteriously taper off. Aha, there it is, two little tracks with a decrepit old train covered in graffiti. The TV monitor says that the train for Florence is leaving from track 5. Track 5? But there are only two tracks. Desperately, I approach the family sitting on one of the benches.

"Dov'e binario cinque, per favore?"

They shrug, and the father answers back in Italian.

"Non capisco...Inglese?"

Nope, sorry, nobody speaks English.

Some old man on a bicycle yells something at me in Italian, none of which I understand. "Grazie" I yell back. Then it dawns on me that the TV monitor is showing the times from the CENTRAL train station, not the airport. Which is probably what the old man was telling me. And I now have missed the last train from the AIRPORT station to the CENTRAL station. Grrr, but at least I know what's going on now.

I go over to the taxi stand and tell the driver to go to Pisa Centrale Stazione. I dash from the taxi to the platforms and find that I'm still on time to catch the train to Florence...I'm feeling very proud of myself right about now.

An hour later, and I'm in Florence, at the Santa Maria Novella train station. I've already scoped out the street layouts on Google Maps, so I know that my hotel, the Grand Hotel Baglioni, is just on the other side of the piazza. I've made it!

In the lobby of the hotel, I meet one of our guides, Alessia, and the two other ladies in the group, Florence, a dentist, and Ann, a computer consultant. Both of them are friends, live on Staten Island, and are of Sicilian descent. After dropping off my luggage, we go upstairs to dinner.

The dining room is beautiful, with a panoramic view of the Florence skyline and the Duomo all lit up. We have a fixed menu dinner, and the waiter pours an incredibly wonderful glass of Chianti. After the first pasta course, our main course turns out to be veal scallopine. Now, ordinarily, I don't eat veal--the idea of it just bothers me. But, I figure that this poor little calf is already dead, and besides, I'm hungry. And my goodness, was it delicious.

After dinner, we decide to take a quick walk to the Duomo. The streets are full of people walking around, and I feel perfectly safe. Most of the stores are closed, but the cafes are going strong, and the piazza is crowded with people.

My hotel room is charming, with wood floors and a beamed ceiling. I don't have a view (just an air shaft), but the window itself is a marvel to behold--an inner wooden shutter, then a glass casement window, then an exterior slatted shutter. The bathroom is tiny, but spotless. I flip through the TV channels, but my options are limited--CNN Europe or BBC World. There are a couple of music channels, but honestly, Italian hip-hop all ends up sounding like Falco. Over the course of the week, I will also watch Scooby-Doo and an episode of Eight is Enough (la famiglia Bradford) dubbed in Italian. I will understand perfectly the plot of both shows despite the lack of English dialogue. Scooby-Doo does an excellent job of matching the Italian voices very closely to the original American ones.