Moving forwards, and back

Naturally I have managed to get the photos in the wrong order of the trip, but such errors must be endured. The photos above and below are of the Arno River. It does not matter how often I visit the wonderful city of Florence - and believe me, it is not nearly often enough - I keep taking photos of the river and its bridges. This photo with the large concreted area is something I never spotted before. It is a pescaia - a sort of weir, and there is another one, according to my map, further upstream. How long has it been there, I wonder? It is downstream from Ponte della Trinita, roughly between the churches of Ognissanti, and San Frediano on the opposite, or Oltrarno side. I had never managed to get to these churches before, and as we came away from San Frediano on the Sunday morning before Mass was held, we peered over the embankment wall, and noticed all this. It is evidently a fishing spot, and there is a man in waders in the water on the far side fishing. The Arno is probably fairly polluted, so do they fish for sport or food, or both? I am perplexed about the large concreted area with all the chairs.
I like this photo for the reflection of the sky.
This is the mercato of San Lorenzo, and we were on our way to visit the church of San Lorenzo, the Medicean chapels and the Laurentian Library. The chapels and the Library were closed on my previous visits. As we walked through, the man with his arms akimbo posed, so we cheered and waved. He will never know he is on my blog.

San Lorenzo is a Brunelleschi (the Duomo dome architect) church, built as the Medici local church for Cosimo il Vecchio, who did not go in for splendour, but for lack of ostentation and modest living. Effective power rather than its pomps was enough for him. The local stone of Florence is known as pietra serena, and it is indeed cool and serene, with an austere beauty, with the church owing as much to the balance and perfection of its proportions as to the materials and decorations used.

The chapels, with the Michelangelo statues of Night and Day, and Dusk and Dawn, are wonderful, and Michelangelo has the same wonderful proportions and balance in his architecture. The other chapel, despised by Oscar Wilde, is a riot of coloured marbles and feature highly decorative pietra dura work. I am a sucker for gorgeous marbles and stones (as a child I wandered around cemeteries and monumental masons), and cannot equal Oscar Wilde's refinement and sensitivity. It is really a very very Baroque interior.

For the first time we visited the Laurentian Library, with the staircase designed by Michelangelo. Beautiful as it is, the interior of the Library excelled it, and it is a monument to literacy and learning. There was an exhibition of the development of writing and the development of alphabets, and of books from basic commercial records to literature, copies of ancient works, illuminated manuscripts of incredible beauty and perfect scripts to the development of printing. Seeing such antiquities and the development of learning and civilisation is inspiring and wondrous.

Pietra dura work is one of my minor passions, and I have two small pictures and a pendant. Very modest works, they are, but I love them. This photo is of a shop window selling pietra dura. On the Oltrarno, where our hotel is, there are several shops and workshops, where I always linger. There is also a museum, Opificio delle Pietre Dure, and lots of it on display in the Pitti Palace and the Uffizi. It is incredibly detailed work, making pictures of scenery, birds, flowers, using semi-precious stones.

As one of my Italian classes is studying Dante, oh so slowly, I could not resist this pizzeria in the city of Dante's birth.
This is the facade of the church of Santo Spirito, designed by Brunelleschi, but not completed by him. Like San Lorenzo, the interior is serene and beautiful. A Baroque baldacchino was put in place many years later. Some think it spoils the church, but I say the church is pretty hard to spoil, and I rather like it.
A view of Florence from the Pitti Palace. I managed to get approval from the attendant to take a photo from the little balcony. In this part of the Pitti Palace visitors kept having to lean forward so as to read the name of the painter and the title of the work. This leaning kept setting off the alarms, but fortunately the attendants were quite sympathetic and understanding. We explained that we were getting on a bit and our eyesight was not what it was. They nodded understandingly.

Indeed we found that despite there being treasures left, right and centre everywhere we went, the security was not of the officious and obnoxious kind encountered in Australian galleries. We were able to peer and get up close, and point at things in a picture. Bags were not permitted as a rule, and taking photos was prohibited - not that such prohibitions or any reminders ever stopped your average culture lover and camera enthusiastic from flashing away there, because of course such rules cannot possibly mean me myself personally - oh no!

Back in Rome, which is where I meant to resume. These two photos are of the church of St Ivo della Sapienzia, a Borromini church, notable for its spiral belfry, and (according to the guide book) for its astonishing complexity, and an ingenious combination of concave and convex surfaces. Borromini and Bernini worked together, but then fell out, and were rivals. But the two of them made Rome what it is today. Borromini was a complicated and difficult man, and in his later years suffered from feverish melancholia. This eventually led him to fall on his sword, but he did not die immediately and suffered horribly.

Mostly Rome

Why not start with a photo of the Colosseum? I visited it on my first ever trip, and this time we decided to refresh the memories. It is awesome, in the original sense of the word. We had come by the Metro and as we were about to cross the road we were accosted by a woman wanting to sell immediate entrance, with a guided tour. For twice the cost. Being relatively aged and mature, we thought we'd take our chances, so went and queued, and got in after only ten minutes. The real reason entry took so little time is that the Colosseum is immense, and it does not matter how many people are admitted, it is NEVER going to look as though there are more than a handful of people in it. Just even thinking about the number of people who crowded into in in its g(l)ory days make my head spin. The pale part is a floor which has been put in to enable people to see how it worked. Immense pieces of columns abound.

The photo with the statue is of Campo dei Fiori, one of my favourite places in Rome. On my first trip to Rome my sister and I stayed at a small and very basic hotel nearby, where the shower was part of the room, separated only by a shower curtain. The statue is of the philosopher Giordano Bruno, who was burnt at the stake for heresy. Such punishments form a large part of the horrors of the past - it seems that cruel and unusual punishments - the type prohibited by the American Constitution - were commonplace in the days when life was short, nasty and brutish, and formed part of the entertainment of the people, rich, powerful, poor and weak. Western civilisation has reached better standards than those of the past. Campo dei Fiori is still a market place, with fresh food and flowers sold there to the people of Rome. Cafes and restaurants abound, and it was there that I had my first gelato of the trip - raspberry, which surely must have an addictive substance in it, as it is quite madly delicious. From Campo dei Fiori we proceeded to Piazza Farnese, and a view of the Palazzo Farnese. Some idiot sold it years ago to the French, and it is now the French Embassy, which means that people cannot get into it. Drat! From there we walked across Corso Vittorio Emanuele to Piazza Navona, and visited the church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, which is beautiful. Obviously I cannot describe the many churches we visited, but I can certainly recommend them. Then we set out to find San Luigi dei Francesi, which has three Caravaggio paintings, including the Calling of St Matthew. It took us a while to find it, mostly due to my poor map reading. Despite directions from helpful Romans we could not find it. When we did succeed, we realised that one reason for our difficulties was that it was covered in scaffolding, and thus was not recognisable.

This is the remarkable oval staircase of the Palazzo Barberini, built for Pope Urban VIII and family. He is the one who authorised using the bronze from the roof of the Pantheon for Bernini's baldacchino in St Peter's. This is the sort of thing that bean counters do to save money. This gave rise to the saying (and I can't remember the Latin) that what the barbarians could not do, the Barberini did. It is a remarkable building, with a flight of 80 stairs

(yes I counted them)

between the ground floor and the first floor. Surprisingly, it has a copy of the Holbein portrait of Henry VIII.

The Elvis and Beatles stained glass windows are part of a cafe in via Veneto. Good fun.

I have managed to delete some of the photos I had selected. Sorry. I don't think there is an undo button available for this sort of thing.

The noseless Statue comes from Brescia. Part of conquerors' revenge. The other photo gives the history but it might not be legible.

I dare not have a go at deleting the duplicate Elvis image.

This black cat is painted at the base of a wall in a street in Brescia, and I have to say is an improvement on the usual standard of graffiti, which is ubiquitous and awful. There was another and similar cat image in another street. No idea what it means, but I love those orange eyes.

More?

Home again, home again

I am back home. Goodness me, it is a long journey. Having discovered that our flight was continuing to Christchurch, New Zealand, it became evident that there are people who live even further away from their destination than I do, and thus I felt quite sympathetic towards them.

It is good to be home. The reunion with Dr P has been very loving and pleasant and it is good to be able to tell him all about the trip. He missed me a lot. His family cared for him well, and apparently his grandson ate huge bowls of pasta with Bolognese sauce every night. Nothing else. (Sometimes I think boys are very strange.)

On the first flight out of Milan I was next to a man who lay down and slept for most of the flight, and snored very loudly the whole time. I felt like having a loud and hysterical tantrum, but my convent upbringing would not let me, so I had to lie there and just fume silently, as I envied him his remarkable capacity for sleep. I managed only about 4 or 5 hours for the entire journey, and last night woke after five hours. Obviously I am typing this while deeply asleep, but I am shortly going to bed, and hope that tomorrow morning I will have recovered from the admittedly fairly mild case of jet lag.

Somehow I imagined that on my return I could sit about idly and gather my forces, but of course life is not like that. My initial idea that we would go out for dinner faded as I realised it was a public holiday and that really fresh food might not be available. So I thawed some pea and ham soup and cooked some croutons and we feasted on that. Today I had to clean the refrigerator (yuk) and then go out and shop, and then lug it all inside.This was a relatively easy task, as I have been lugging my heavy suitcase up and down stairs on stations, and on and off several high steps on the various trains, so obviously this stood me in good stead for every day activities. Sometimes, as we did our little old ladies' act, a strong and helpful male would help and we were always most grateful. But why do so many stations not have lifts?

Our last stay was the Citta Alta of Bergamo, a most beautiful spot with stunningly beautiful buildings and a fascinating history. We walked all around it and came away with much information about its history, especially in the post-Napoleonic period when it became part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and the political repression was extremely severe. A nice new law was introduced for crimes such as having a weapon, and people could be arrested, tried, convicted and executed within several hours. Horrific!

I took what probably amounts to a thousand photos in this city. On our last day we visited the Donizetti museum, and bought a ticket which gave us entry to several other places, including the large campanile (Campanone). When we turned up there, the lift was out of order, and it was still out of order the next time we tried. Thus, when we set out on our final ramble, I left my camera in the hotel, and having found that the lift was finally working, went up, climbed another 45 stairs and stepped into the most stunningly beautiful view, and there I was with no camera. Generally I take lots of photos of bell towers, for the edification of my friend the bell-ringer, but she is missing out on a photo of the Campanone's huge main bell.

We did visit the Citta Bassa, but did not manage to see much, and when we arrived at the Contemporary art Gallery, found that it was Art of a highly self-indulgent and pretentious kind. So we walked to the funiculare, leaving any other offerings to themselves.

We climbed the Rocca, from which the views were almost as spectacular, and followed an exceedingly suspicious cat around its walls. Bergamo seems always to be shrouded in mist, which never lifted.

Although we arrived in Rome, we departed from Milan, and so took the train to Milano Centrale Station, which has lifts (halleliua), and moving walkways, toilets, and a Left Luggage department. We deposited our luggage there, and then braved the Metro. We got out at Duomo, a trip which took a whole five minutes, and the doors opened and closed at every station in 12 seconds. We emerged from the Metro to see rise before us the most achingly beautiful building imaginable, the Duomo, which has been cleaned since I first saw it with my sister years ago, and it is light and pale and seems to be about to float away. Notwithstanding being searched on entry and reminded that no photos or filming were permitted in the interior, most people evidently think that such restrictions could not possibly apply to themselves, and so cameras were constantly flashing.

I must here engage in some cultural relativism. In Asia everyone takes off their shoes before entering a temple and women know not to try and shake a monk's hand (all these contaminating females!) and in mosques evidently sensitivity, courtesy and decorum govern behaviour. Why, then, do people feel it is acceptable to disturb Christian religious services, to pose for photos in churches, to take photos and video despite the prohibitions, eat and drink, and to kiss and fondle as well? It made me very cross: I feel we should respect our own history, culture and traditions. And other cultures should respect each other.

All in all, we had a wonderful time, and saw so many beautiful places, buildings, scenery and art, and enjoyed the immense courtesy and generosity of spirit of the people. We enjoyed each other's company, never had a cross word, had the freedom to do exactly as we pleased, without having to conform to a timetable. The weather was excellent, the hotels ranged from satisfactory to very good, the train trips were pleasant, with mere frissons of anxiety about whether we were on the right platform and on the right train, and the itinerary always interesting and the stays just long enough. I did a little shopping in Florence, following which I restrained myself with admirable self-discipline and merely window-shopped (ah! the gorgeous aquamarines and amethysts in Ferrara - they are all still there).

There were many special hours and places, and I will reflect on them and examine the photographs to preserve them in my memory. It is good to be home.

And now to bed!

Some photos next time, when my mind and body are less of a blur.

Brescia

Here we are in Brescia, a much larger city than those we have visited, with the obvious exceptions of Rome and Florence. There is a lot of industry here, and a smaller historic centre.
In Italy on Mondays most places are closed, and as Mondays come around every seven days, we have to make do with rather more leisurely rambles. Today we tried churches. The maps we have are not sufficiently detailed, and sometimes it seems that the historic churches are closed, either permanently or for restoration. Nevertheless we have found several churches to wonder at.

We came across one from the back entrance and spent a lot of time in close scrutiny, then came out the front entrance to find ourselves near an absolutely huge hole, immensely deep. We had no idea what it could be but the hotel staff informed us that Brescia is building an extensive metro. Eat your heart out Sydney. In Rovereto there is to be a referendum on whether to construct a ring road. Again, eat your heart out...

This afternoon we spent more time in search of churches but could not find some of them, despite following all the signs. The ones we found seemed permanently closed.

We are very close to the Duomo (cathedral) and last night there was a show of fashion and design in the piazza. We watched for a while and saw children,s wear and then underwear, and the models, as well as walking across the catwalk, had to balance rich and complicated cakes.. We went back to the hotel but the loud compere and the music continued until quite late, but fortunately the drums were not prominent. In order to put this show on the piazza was covered with sand, then turf, and potted plants including quite large trees were put in place to represent a garden. Today we watched it all being dismantled. It must have cost heaps.

Naturally I have taken lots of photos. My new camera seems good although I have not managed yet to take more than a cursory glance at the manual, but I forgot the charger and the battery has now run down yet again. I managed to get it recharged in Florence and then again in Trento, in Florence they charged 8 euros and in Trento nothing. I did take my old camera so can keep taking photos.

In Brescia there are very large numbers of Africans and Middle Eastern people. Many must be refugees or illegal immigrants. Italy has cracked down on the entry of people from Libya, but each year thousands have entered, and it makes the numbers trying to get to Australia seems absolutely minimal. From the little we can see Africans seem to be in menial jobs, and there are many selling illegal copies of bags, etc. There are many families here and we saw children coming out of school this afternoon and there seemed to be more non italians than Italians.

Tomorrow we hope to see the museums, and then on Thursday we go to the Citta Alta of Bergamo, a small and apparently beautiful city, and from there we travel to Milan airport and commence the long trip home, arriving next Monday morning. We have had a most enjoyable and interesting time with no cross words and much to discuss each day. Dr P is well and says he is missing me, but has been well cared for.

From Trento

I am halfway trhough my trip to Italy and it has been so very enjoyable, albeit exhausting. We have had no disasters, and have managed the travelling by train well, get on very well together, and the itinerary is very successful. There has been little free time or internet access, but today we arrived in Trento and are staying in a very attractive hotel with a computer, which, alas in Windows. This, combined with an Italian keyboard, and my very poor typing skills, does not make for efficient use of a computer and I miss my iMac.

So far we have been to Rome, Florence and Ferrara and are now in Trento, a small and busy little city with a large student population. It is very beautiful. we have walked around it to get our bearings and tomorrow intend to visit the historic places thoroughly. This is where the Council of Trent met, over about twenty years. Surprisngly we have seen lots of young babies and children, which makes me wonder whether the Italian birth rate is rising. Lots of African pedlars, even this far north, and even someone selling Peruvian clothing.

The fashionable colour this season is purple and the clothes here are very very stylish. I did some shopping in Florence, and from now on am abstaining from all temptation, except for a particular Italian peppermint, which is to die for. Afer looking for it unsuccesfuuly elsewhere I now find it is available in supermarkets.

Naturally I hace taken lots of photos, which in all probability no one but me will ever look at. I bought new camera, but forgot to take the battery charger with me. I managed to get it charged in Florence and then again in Trento.

As this computer is about to disconnect me, that is all for now. Ciao a tutti.

The last post (for a while)

Today is the departure day, and I am checking the computer while I wait for the transport to the airport. As far as one can tell, everything is organised. Yesterday I made a cake for Dr P and I have just taken out of the oven a batch of Anzac biscuits, so he can indulge his sweet tooth.

Apparently there are some people in this world who can leave their packing until the last minute, and then fling everything into a bag, and get it exactly right. I am not such a person, so it has been an arduous process, but finally the suitcase is downstairs, the carry on luggage is ready and the documents and finances all set - except that I seem to have mislaid a key card. There is a spare - just as well. Guidebooks are packed, and some fiction, not to mention the iPod for the music and the new camera and its complicated manual. Note to self - don't buy a new anything two days before departure: it is asking for trouble. My will has been updated and revised, and signed. I had to hunt down my neighbours to witness it for me. Obviously this had to be done in case the plane crashes.

My travelling companion says she is a light packer. Obviously she is going to rely on my guidebooks...

When I travel I get twitchy and nervous, and need to arrive in plenty of time. There seems to be much to panic about - will Dr P be all right in my absence and will his family take good care of him? Should I chuck out all the flowers even though they are not dead yet? Will the garden and plants be watered? Will I be able to find things when I return - from past experience the memory of everyday things gets totally displaced by the memory of the travel arrangements?

Nothing is ever totally under control, but as far as possible what should have been done has in fact been done, and soon I will be in the air anticipating the joys of travel.

The trivia of the day

There was a wild storm in the late afternoon - the sort that makes you run around and check all the doors and windows. The rain bashed against the house, coming from the west, and by the time I had closed the windows, lots of water had been driven in underneath the doors to the balcony on the middle level. Three towels got sodden as a result. Lightning flashed and there were some thundery rumbles. Then as we watched the news, the night sky behind the news readers kept showing lightning flashes. Reality as we watched!

When I went outside to close the garage door it would not work. Turned out someone must have reached up and switched off the power to the roller door. Nice! Thanks, mate.

The weekend was spent going through all the things on my desk, sorting them into categories, putting them into folders, and then transferring them upstairs to the new two drawer filing cabinet that I raced out and bought last week. When I got it home I could not find its keys, so had to ring the shop and seek help. Somehow I assumed the keys would be in the lock, but no!

Obviously my eyesight is getting worse, as it transpired that the keys were in a clear plastic envelope stuck with clear tape to the clear plastic wrapping, and thus the dull silver of the keys blended nicely and invisibly with the dull grey of the cabinet. Being told this made me feel like a real dill. Especially since I did the helpless, hopeless little old lady act, evidently with a convincing air of verisimilitude. The cabinet is now in my bedroom cupboard, out of sight.

Part of my daily routine is to revise my travel summary document, which I will then email to myself, replete with scanned copy of passport and travel insurance. The phone card had to be checked. It had expired, but they waved a magic wand and reactivated it. I think I was talking to someone in India but fortunately we could understand each other. Then there is always the packing panic to contend with. I checked the baggage allowance - 40 kg - how can anyone lug that much around with them, especially on the way over, before any shopping can have been done?

However! I really am going to Italy. From the time I studied history at at school and encountered the art and learning of the Renaissance, it has been one of my abiding passions. I started learning the language while still at school, forgot a lot of it, and began again after my divorce. Isn't it interesting how unhappiness and misery manage to stimulate other interests, learning and different activities? And so you manage to heal.

Dr P gave me a trip early in our relationship, and I went with my third sister. We had six weeks away, and went to Paris as well as Italy. I was ecstatic, but my poor sister, who had never been away from home before, was desperately homesick. She cried every day and rang home constantly. I always knew I would love the country, and I did and still do, notwithstanding all its problems. It is so incredibly beautiful, the people are warm, generous and helpful, the history is splendid and fascinating, and so much of our civilisation originated there. Since that first trip Dr P, who is very generous in this way, has given me others, but with his increasing frailty and forgetfulness, I believed that it would not be possible for me to go away again. Even going to see family in Canberra or Melbourne is difficult. When my dearest friend died a year ago I went to her funeral, but had to come rushing home the next day, as Dr P had neglected himself, and was taken to hospital. So to be given the opportunity to have several weeks away is wonderful, and I am truly grateful. I hope he will be all right during my absence. And maybe his family will realise and understand better how much care I give him.

Five days to go! Then that long, long trip, with almost no sleep, and on Sunday afternoon, we arrive. I wish I could take some crochet with me to do on the flight, but apparently plastic crochet hooks are dangerous weapons and are prohibited. Easy to read books will have to suffice.

Dr P keeps asking me why I don't try another country, and the answer is that I have not finished Italy yet.

The weekend was spent going through all th