(I am really now in Venice… but I wrote this in Open Office a few days ago)
I am sitting at the Rivoire Pasticceria in Firenze, Italy. Yes, sitting. It is 8:41, my travel buddies have gone into the Ufizzi and I have time to sit here and enjoy my 6,50 Euro cafe duppio. Lovely. I have been waiting to do this since my last visit to Florence about a week ago. I could see the smaller copy of David except a delivery truck is blocking my view. A gutsy sparrow just tried to sneak a bite of my brioshe. My waiter brought me crème instead of jam- and I am very glad he did- this is wonderful.
I guess I should work my way backwards. Yesterday, we (Stephen Bachicha, McKinzie and Kristen) got up early to get in line to see Michaelangelo’s David. 2 espressos, 1 pair of shoes and 4 hours later we made it into the museum. If it weren’t for the David, I think I would have hesitated paying the 10 euro to visit. We put out purses and bags through another scanner and with hard-earned tickets in hand, we make our way towards the main event. Kristen and I turn the corner and gasp. We’ve all seen pictures of the many parts of David- but together they do not even begin to sum up into a greater whole. He is magnificent. He is 14?? Or maybe 13?? We try to put awkward proportions aside (I’m talking about his giant feet, people. C’mon!) and imagine that he is a little older so we can enjoy him with a clear conscience. He is 17 feet tall and on a large pedistal and I wish I could see his face. You can clearly see it from the groud- but from higher up- the angle of the sculptor- he no longer looks brave- he’s scared. His nipples are hard and the veins in his forarms pulse with blood and adrinaline. I can’t imagine it would be any other way after killing a giant.
(I just reaized that my brioshe has jam IN it. That poofy crème is for my espresso… oooops!)
Like the statue, our groups proportions were off- 4 hours in line for 1 hour in the museum!
The day before we walked along the river, looked at shops and bought paper trinkets from this VERY old woman in a small paper shop. I now have a clever triangle-shaped book mark (it fits on the corner of the page- like a hat) that reads in flowery caligraphy “Here I fell asleep.” On the back is pasted “Firenze” and I think it was cut out of a magazine or newspaper- I love it.
(There are now two sparrows on my table staring at me and stealing sugar bits on my plate)
We went to several markets and bought limoncello, fruit and 2 kilos of faro (an ancient grain that Steve and I had on the wine tour… but that will require more backtracking which will happen later). Kristen found some satisfactory leather gloves and I was disappointed to find out that the pink and lace fingerless gloves I wanted were for driving and not scootering. Le sigh. I didn’t want to buy nice gloves and then ruin them by reving up the Scooty-Puff Jr. I bought a cashmire scarf instead. It is off-white with pink line drawings on one side. No tassel-y fringe-y stuff! I guess I can be satisfied driving with a scarf trailing in the freakishly hot Arizona wind vs. having sweaty palms in leather scooter gloves.
I spent the previous day in Rome, saying good-bye to Leo and Alberto, the desk guy who had invited a few folks up to the terrace for Peroi the night before. Leo Hurley, one of the composers from Cortona, and I stayed in a hostel in Rome for a few days following the close of The Cortona Sessions. I think about a third of us went to Roma after Cortona. Leo and I waltzed all over the city making up broadway songs about the birth of Fruitissima (again, all will be explained in good time) and taking Dead Pictures.
(That damn bird just took my napkin! What the hell!!)
“What are Dead Pictures?” you ask. Dead Pictures involve one person suppoedly taking a picture of sometime- a monument, another friend, a ferral cat, a huge plastic watch- whatever. But in the picture, someone else is playing dead- on a bench, on the groud, in a chair, slumped over a rock- doesn’t matter. The whole thing turns into a morbid game of Where’s Waldo. I have already posted some Dead Pictures on my flicker account [remember to post link!!!]. I hope we are the only people in the world who has a series of Dead Pictures in the Pantheon… and the Vatican (it’s in the city, not in the tombs, so stop gasping and go a head and giggle).
Before we entered into the world of the Dead Pictures, Leo and I spent hours of the previous day chasing a statue. We spent 4 hours (I see a theme…) walking around Rome looking for Bernini’s the Ecsstacy of Saint Theresa. We had two maps- one had the location incorect and the other did not have the chuch listed at all. After 3 hours of asking- and no one knowing what the hell we are talking about- we go into a useum. We needed a break from the heat and a nice 5 Euro museum seemed like the best place to go. However, the search is not over. After staring at the ceiling for a bit, we ask several people working in the museum, “Uh… Doh-veh la statue della Saint Theresa… Bernini…? Dov-eh [insert name of correct church here]?” As we exit the gallery and go to the gift shop- as we are about the leave the one place where someone- surely someone- must know where the hell this statue is located and still no one can tell us- we find the answer. The chuch is not even a 10 minute walk from our hotel. We giggle. The giggles turn into outright laugher and hurried thanks of “Gratsie mill-eh!” The church was stunning and the statue is one of the most moving works of art I have seen here. We saw it again the next day.
I think it is time for me to do some window shopping and then sit down to read. Jeanette (another lovely person from Cortona) gave me a copy of Catch-22 and I am determined to finish it before my trip is up!
Keep reading (more to come…)
-e
