Firenze
I realize that my posts are gi-normous. Thank you for your patience. I am going to try to break them up into manageable chunks, separated by happy photos...
Well I still haven't finished writing about my lovely vacation. Hopefully you aren't sick of reading about it. If you are, you know what you can do. Go to cuteoverload.com and stare at some sappy puppies. What'd you think I was going to say?
The last two places I haven't written in detail about are Florence and Cortona. The last time I went to Florence (2001, August), it was not a particular success. We stood in line for the Uffizi, along with about half the population of Japan and a few other American slobs like us, and then when we got in, D had to use the loo. Well the loo was at the VERY END of the museum, through every century and region of Western art you can think of, and to add insult to injury, the bathroom toilets had no seats. Most toilets I used in Florence had no seats, some had no toilets at all if you know what I mean. Like hole-in-the-floor and hope-you-have-strong-quads-toilets. So D and I did not enjoy our experience. One can't feel sublime in a place where huge knots of tourists swarm in front of the painting you're trying to experience, and then you're boiling hot and annoyed that some dumb American is explaining the wrong painting technique to Auntie Ethel standing behind you. After that museum, D and I decided to wear headphones to every subsequent place. It was beautiful to wander the National Gallery in London, Jimi Hendrix blocking out every ignoramus in the room (but maybe not every snob, you may think. well go ahead and think it. you're right).
This time, we decided: No Uffizi. Easy peezy. Also, one of the few things I wanted to see was Beatrice Galli's yarn shop on the way to the Boboli gardens. Very close by is also one of my favorite paintings in the world: Pontormo's Descent from the Cross. So with that scant list in mind, we drove the very manageable distance with our friend B, found a parking lot, and started walking. It turned out to be one of the best food days in my life, no exaggeration.
B had lived in Florence for a semester in college, and knew the less-touristy places where you could get great food, shop, and whatever else. We went to an indoor/outdoor market, with table after table of fresh produce, cheap clothes and linens. I got a half kilo of the best cherries, and then went inside for a Cafe Latte. I don't get coffee often, and most places butcher Lattes or make such huge ones they're cold by the time half of it's gone. Or Starbucks--shoot me if I ever get a latte there, all burnt-ashtray tasting. Yeugh. Anyway, this one was excellent, like my pal Fabio in Roma used to make. He'd put cinnamon smiley faces on top too, as a special touch. Probably did that for all those art school dames.
We wandered around a bit, going towards the Duomo, and stopped in this little chocolatier that had very Japanese-looking packaging. The salesman offered us a ton of free samples, each one better than the last, of every kind of exquisite chocolate. We bought a huge box for D's mom, and on our way out the salesman gave us each a spoonful of their gelato. Now I am by no means an expert on food, but this gelato was indescribably good. The closest thing I can compare it to is if silk and cashmere had a cold, chocolate-flavored baby. We were stunned, and resolved to return with the rest of the ladies from our villa. (All 9 of us were in town that day)
D enjoyed taking lots of detailed shots of the Duomo, and we went inside with our group. It's huge and beautiful, and people still don't really understand how it was put up. Brunelleschi was a genius, and even after reading a whole book about it I still don't get it. For some reason, I felt sad and oppressed in this space, thinking about how many people had lived and died to put it up, the incredible ambition of a cathedral. I thought about the fact that work had begun nearly a century before, while the Black Death destroyed half of Europe's population, over half in Florence itself. And yet. Their lives were nothing but toil and suffering, and yet. I don't know why it depressed me instead of lifted my spirits. I guess just thinking about the extreme luxury in which I live, gives me a sense of awe that others had (and have) so much less. Even the royalty of the Renaissance had fleas, and bathed once a year. And here, these flea-bitten folk put up one of the most beautiful buildings in the world.
We went to a trattoria after the Duomo, the place I referred to in an earlier post with lots of local comfort food. I am now a devotee of fava beans--cannellini in our grocery stores. I've come round to beans after 30 years of detesting them. I am embracing my inner Briton.
D and I walked across town to the river, crossed the beautiful Ponte Vecchio, and found Signora Galli's shop. She is an incredibly nice lady, and very accomodating. We had a long conversation about yarn manufacturers, the dearth of Italian knitters (most of her customers are tourists, and Japanese ones), and the difficulty of learning a new language. She opened up the back balcony of her shop so D could take pictures of the bridge and her lovely flowers. Meanwhile, I was in yarn heaven, touching all of the exquisite Italian-manufactured beauties there. Most of the world's luxury fibers are processed in Italy, I read recently. Cashmere, Silk, and Merino wool are brought there to be sorted, cleaned, dyed and then spun into the fibers that make high-fashion sweaters and other textiles. Italians, whatsamattayou?
I bought a good amount of yarn: some Egyptian cotton, some in fibers I know not, and some mohair too. Most of the yarn I bought was of a raspberry persuasion, with changes in texture instead of hue. One skein looked like Easter grass, candy-colored, but amazingly soft. The bunny illustration on the yarn wrapper was fuzzy just like the yarn. Another skein was like a watermelon-flavored candy cane; raspberry color with green and white spun into it. Ahh, bliss.
We went to our pilgrimage church to see the Pontormo, walked to the Strozzi Palazzo and the gorgeous Boboli gardens, and because I am slightly moronic, I mis-read the watch I was wearing and thought we had to run out of the gardens to meet our friends for dinner. Hmm, idiota. We were an hour earlier and of course, no one was there. So we walked to a place B recommended and sat down to our third gorgous meal of the day (after I realized my mistake in watch-reading). All I know is I want some tagliatelle right now!
Well I still haven't finished writing about my lovely vacation. Hopefully you aren't sick of reading about it. If you are, you know what you can do. Go to cuteoverload.com and stare at some sappy puppies. What'd you think I was going to say?
The last two places I haven't written in detail about are Florence and Cortona. The last time I went to Florence (2001, August), it was not a particular success. We stood in line for the Uffizi, along with about half the population of Japan and a few other American slobs like us, and then when we got in, D had to use the loo. Well the loo was at the VERY END of the museum, through every century and region of Western art you can think of, and to add insult to injury, the bathroom toilets had no seats. Most toilets I used in Florence had no seats, some had no toilets at all if you know what I mean. Like hole-in-the-floor and hope-you-have-strong-quads-toilets. So D and I did not enjoy our experience. One can't feel sublime in a place where huge knots of tourists swarm in front of the painting you're trying to experience, and then you're boiling hot and annoyed that some dumb American is explaining the wrong painting technique to Auntie Ethel standing behind you. After that museum, D and I decided to wear headphones to every subsequent place. It was beautiful to wander the National Gallery in London, Jimi Hendrix blocking out every ignoramus in the room (but maybe not every snob, you may think. well go ahead and think it. you're right).
This time, we decided: No Uffizi. Easy peezy. Also, one of the few things I wanted to see was Beatrice Galli's yarn shop on the way to the Boboli gardens. Very close by is also one of my favorite paintings in the world: Pontormo's Descent from the Cross. So with that scant list in mind, we drove the very manageable distance with our friend B, found a parking lot, and started walking. It turned out to be one of the best food days in my life, no exaggeration.
B had lived in Florence for a semester in college, and knew the less-touristy places where you could get great food, shop, and whatever else. We went to an indoor/outdoor market, with table after table of fresh produce, cheap clothes and linens. I got a half kilo of the best cherries, and then went inside for a Cafe Latte. I don't get coffee often, and most places butcher Lattes or make such huge ones they're cold by the time half of it's gone. Or Starbucks--shoot me if I ever get a latte there, all burnt-ashtray tasting. Yeugh. Anyway, this one was excellent, like my pal Fabio in Roma used to make. He'd put cinnamon smiley faces on top too, as a special touch. Probably did that for all those art school dames.
We wandered around a bit, going towards the Duomo, and stopped in this little chocolatier that had very Japanese-looking packaging. The salesman offered us a ton of free samples, each one better than the last, of every kind of exquisite chocolate. We bought a huge box for D's mom, and on our way out the salesman gave us each a spoonful of their gelato. Now I am by no means an expert on food, but this gelato was indescribably good. The closest thing I can compare it to is if silk and cashmere had a cold, chocolate-flavored baby. We were stunned, and resolved to return with the rest of the ladies from our villa. (All 9 of us were in town that day)
D enjoyed taking lots of detailed shots of the Duomo, and we went inside with our group. It's huge and beautiful, and people still don't really understand how it was put up. Brunelleschi was a genius, and even after reading a whole book about it I still don't get it. For some reason, I felt sad and oppressed in this space, thinking about how many people had lived and died to put it up, the incredible ambition of a cathedral. I thought about the fact that work had begun nearly a century before, while the Black Death destroyed half of Europe's population, over half in Florence itself. And yet. Their lives were nothing but toil and suffering, and yet. I don't know why it depressed me instead of lifted my spirits. I guess just thinking about the extreme luxury in which I live, gives me a sense of awe that others had (and have) so much less. Even the royalty of the Renaissance had fleas, and bathed once a year. And here, these flea-bitten folk put up one of the most beautiful buildings in the world.
We went to a trattoria after the Duomo, the place I referred to in an earlier post with lots of local comfort food. I am now a devotee of fava beans--cannellini in our grocery stores. I've come round to beans after 30 years of detesting them. I am embracing my inner Briton.
D and I walked across town to the river, crossed the beautiful Ponte Vecchio, and found Signora Galli's shop. She is an incredibly nice lady, and very accomodating. We had a long conversation about yarn manufacturers, the dearth of Italian knitters (most of her customers are tourists, and Japanese ones), and the difficulty of learning a new language. She opened up the back balcony of her shop so D could take pictures of the bridge and her lovely flowers. Meanwhile, I was in yarn heaven, touching all of the exquisite Italian-manufactured beauties there. Most of the world's luxury fibers are processed in Italy, I read recently. Cashmere, Silk, and Merino wool are brought there to be sorted, cleaned, dyed and then spun into the fibers that make high-fashion sweaters and other textiles. Italians, whatsamattayou?
I bought a good amount of yarn: some Egyptian cotton, some in fibers I know not, and some mohair too. Most of the yarn I bought was of a raspberry persuasion, with changes in texture instead of hue. One skein looked like Easter grass, candy-colored, but amazingly soft. The bunny illustration on the yarn wrapper was fuzzy just like the yarn. Another skein was like a watermelon-flavored candy cane; raspberry color with green and white spun into it. Ahh, bliss.
We went to our pilgrimage church to see the Pontormo, walked to the Strozzi Palazzo and the gorgeous Boboli gardens, and because I am slightly moronic, I mis-read the watch I was wearing and thought we had to run out of the gardens to meet our friends for dinner. Hmm, idiota. We were an hour earlier and of course, no one was there. So we walked to a place B recommended and sat down to our third gorgous meal of the day (after I realized my mistake in watch-reading). All I know is I want some tagliatelle right now!
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