Here's What I Know Now (and it ain't much)

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Trip Start Mar 09, 2007 Previous
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  Florence, Italy
Monday, March 19, 2007

March 14, 2007, Wednesday.

Everything they say about the Tuscans is true. They sing spontaneously on the street at noon and a midnight. They buzz around in their Vespas. The garbage is collected, noisily, every day, or at least it sounds like it. What else would make that kind of noise every morning at about 1 or 2 am? Certainly not church bells, but they ring, too.

The Florentines have copied us in California, right down to the red tiled roofs, pale yellow stucco, villas on hillsides, and wine everywhere. Fast food is ubiquitous, just like home, except here it is little round pizzas (pizzelle) ready for reheating during half hour breaks.

    Food of the Gods and the Street of Malcontents

I have now made the circuit of my neighborhood here around la chiesa Santa Croce... what a wonderful place! No wonder so many people are wandering around at all hours, especially when the stores are open. There are several small park where locals take the sun or play with their children, and a small square with a perpetual semi-open-air market specializing in "mobile" or all kinds of furniture, from antique to glaringly modern. Over another block to the east the small streets open up again for another small piazza, facing an historical church that no tourists, except me, visit. It's Sant' Ambrogio. Not too far away is Via Malconenti. Yes, street of the malcontents. Who were they, I wonder?

This reminds me of an ancient New Yorker cartoon... a nice couple is wandering the back streets of a small city such as Firenze when they happen upon what appears to be a small and typically local ristorante.

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One of them exclaims: "Look dear, a small and typical local restaurant!" There is a sign above the restaurant that reads: "Small & Typical Local Restaurant."

Inside S. Ambrogio a docent arranges bibles, two people are praying, new age relaxation music plays softly in the background, and on the floor are the tombstones of Verocchio and others. There are many frescoes so far gone they are merely outlines in black chalk to mark the figures. Like many other places this church has been flooded more than once. One fresco has been restored and in particular stands out. A group of Fiorentinos are standing around sometime about 1500... very lovely (see picture). This fresco is attributed to Raffaellino Del Garbo (1455-1524), Gretta Garbo's great great great great great great great grandfather. It shows St. Anthony as an abbot, with Tobiah and the Angel. But mostly it's a bunch of lovely Fiorentionos in glorious color. How would you like to have that in YOUR neighborhood? Not just a fresco, but a fresco more than 500 years old?

Beyond and around that church are numerous shops and bars. I had an excellent 2 Euro double gelato (my first here) which carried me several blocks. I found a shop that specializes in alterations, and returned with the shirt off my back (please shorten the sleeves?) and a pair of pants missing one button. The signora was gentile, and enjoyed pointing out we had almost the same name: Antony or Antonio (I can be either one, or Tony). I'll be back on Friday to pick up the work (if I can remember).

    la Scuola

School has divided itself into the intense but not all that useful morning group class, in which 12 persons all half my age (or less) converge to learn the passato prossimo and other obscure aspects of the language.

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I do my homework and speak my piece, but if this was all I was doing it would not be nearly enough.

After lunch, I have an excellent insegnante (see picture) all to myself for two solid hours, no break. It's talk talk talk, which suits me just fine, and much scribbling on the board to explain things I didn't understand. We speak of things "molto diverso" from my (former) bookstore and my opinions of the employees, and what is it like to live in Mendocino, and where are the young people, to music (Lucia brought the Tokyo String Quartet to my attention - they are appearing two times this weekend with a program of Mozart and Beethoven, each concert different from the other, in the Teatro della Pergola, which turns out to be not more than one crooked block from the Scuola. What a surprise, and what a great weekend this is going to be! From here in my room on Borgo Allegri 38 I can walk to the theater in easily under ten minutes.

I would go on, and will, but it's already 5:30 and time to think about doing some compiti, or homework. We do have homework. To be continued, as always.

March 15, 2007, Thursday
Coffee on Every Corner

OK. I have been in Florence for six days, and it's time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to admit that I've been terribly homesick from time to time from the moment I got here and unpacked (alone... awww) in my little hotel room with the bright red bathroom tiles. There is lots to take in, both sacred and profane, but still there are those midnight jet-lagged moments when I feel all alone, very small, and specifically not loved by anyone, except my wife at home, and my cats, who actually don't love anyone but themselves but it doesn't matter.

This morning I woke up at the usual 4 or 5 am and could feel the loneliness creeping up on me.

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Dammit I said to me, get over it you little shit. Time to enjoy the time and place here. I am doing better now, grazie. I continue to enjoy the one-on-one classes, and my casual classmate friends have started to become actual friends. It's very nice.

Nancy from New York plays viola, and is taking music lessons as well as Italian. Annette and Iren (Irene?) are very different from each other, but both from Sweden (did not know each other before arriving here). Together the four of us have gotten lost going to and from the Mercato Centrale for a quick lunch (see picture) and hung out in smoggy sunshiney mornings. Today after class we went in search of a café with the intention of doing our homework together. I suggested the Piazza Santa Croce (only a couple of blocks from my home, how nice) and we sat together in the gathering dusk facing the cathedral. We drank red wine and Italian beer, and went through the homework. It was actually quite intense. We never got around to chatting until we were gathering things to go.

We talked about how each of us was getting home to our apartments, and about the Fortessa Belvedere up behind the Pitti Palace as a good place to hang out for the view and relative solitude. I hugged each of them goodbye, explaining that we do this in America, even though it would be more Italian to kiss each other on our various cheeks. Once again I am reminded it is a hell of a lot better to go through life with people you like than the other way around.

Florence will never feel like home, but I have located:
    1    A place to get buttons sewn and sleeves shortened
    2    An excellent gelato shop
    3    The local Wash and Dry (and two dry cleaners)
    4    Endless interesting small ristoranti (see picture of a fish place steps from home)
    5    The flower stand, the giornale stand for newspapers, etc.

...

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all within a few blocks. Florence, unlike US towns, is rich in all the good things you might want - coffee and pastries and pannini and cigarettes and food shops and meat shops and olive and cheese shops, and gawd-knows-what-all shops; places to purchase pens and pencils (the cartoleria) and a hospital and another hospital and museums and churches and furniture stores, oculists, bookstores, newstands, more churches, hotels - all these and more are pretty much everywhere in town, and not just because there are so many tourists and so many students. It's just how it is, and how it may have used to have been (say THAT in Italian) in the US... small shops and little bites. Coffee here is a public utility. Like fire hydrants at home, there is espresso on every corner.

Tonight I enjoyed the usual frenetic conflagration called "dinner" at home, and "la cena" here. It started with a big noise: Fabbio happily arriving loaded down with bags, some containing food, with daughter Martina running up and down the steep stairs shouting "Babbo! Babbo!" which is Tuscan for "Daddy!"

It was Yuki's turn to show us how the Japanese eat. She put together comfortable bowls of soba noodles for us, but only she had chopsticks, and I think she used them wisely. Just as soon as the noodles were slurped up, with much gratitude and noise, out came the fresh slices of mozzarella, slices of juicy red tomatoes, with basil bits on the top, oil and vinegar and some thick slices of Reggiano parmesano just to fill it all out.

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In a few moments we had traveled from Kyoto to Florence. For dessert: a huge bar of dark cioccalata from Turin, where the best nutty chocolate bars come from, Fabbio says.

Fabio showed us a clipping from the newspaper about the imminent cherry blossom festival in Japan. He recounted that a Tokyo weatherman had to make profuse public apologies when he estimated wrong by three days the best hour and minute to view the new crop of cherry blossoms.

There is a lovely big cherry tree just past peak blossom time, quietly blooming in a tiny open behind the main school building. I only see it in brief glimpses, as the door is kept closed, and students are shooed away.

At dinner Martina was very focused on reading the names and phone numbers of her classmates to mama. Allesandra dutifully recorded each one in a new tiny address book that was discovered inside Martina's very large chocolate Easter egg. Martina was allowed to break into it weeks before Pasquale because, I guess, she can't have real chocolate, so the artificial chocolate was allowed early. I continue to be impressed with how easily Martina eats only the correct foods (rice milk, etc.) and is not tempted by the illegal goodies on the table each morning and night. I don't know how she does it. Bad yet delicious food at home, such as chocolate bars and cookies, never last us very long. I have NO self control if I like the stuff.

March 16, 2007    My Local Cafe

Another nice stop at the café in piazza Santa Croce with Nancy and Annette.

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The café has a name: Finisterrae, Ristorante Mediterraneo. We talked a lot; got some ideas about where I might travel after school ends - Elba, Sardegna, or the coast below Portofino... now I must go out and try to find or borrow an English language Italian travel book to try to get a better handle on the logistics.

Nancy on the way home walked around my block with me, and was happily amazed at the riches here. She found some things I hadn't seen, such as a small gallery with miniature watercolors of Firenze... I saw a wine shop - not a place to drink, for once, but a place to buy wine, that looks as sophisticated as you'd ever want. By the time we had made the circuit and Nancy had looked at a map to help her walk home, she realized (a) I have it made and (b) she is going to spend more time in this neighborhood and (c) she lives not more than three blocks away and didn't realize all this was here. I didn't know it was all here until I'd been here a few days.

At school there have been some rearrangements. Two students in my class (both male) have decided it's too advanced, and dropped back to Level 1 (I am in Level 2). They no doubt made the right decision, but it leaves me as the only male in a room of eight women. You might think this delightful (I probably will start menstruating with them - a well-known phenomenon in prisons and classrooms) but in fact it puts me very much on the spot. This morning we talked about all the things one does to wake up. I was the model for shaving, of course.

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But worse, half the words we learn are "masculino" and how do you demonstrate this, but point at Antonio. I'm sick of it. Point at your own damn self. (Actually, teacher may point at me as much as she wishes. She is nice. I hope she reads this.)
                
Uh oh.... The latest news is that Yuki's friends have backed out of the adventure, so Yuki will not be taking the bus tonight to Napoli. Of course, everyone is relieved, except her. I think she's a bit sad about it. But hey - she will try again later in the month. Fabbio has pointed out that starting Saturday morning at 4 am Yuki can watch the time trials in Australia for the next Grand Prix race. However, Yuki seems to have trouble waking up in time for breakfast, so she may not be able to see this on TV. Too bad.

March 17, 2007, Sabato, gorgeous sunshine

First Saturday in Firenze. We started with a quick breakfast including some Brie, then off to the WashandDry (pronounced as one word, in English) around the corner. About 11 am, fully cleansed, took myself all of three blocks to Santa Croce, to finally look around inside. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered why there are so many - it seems like hundreds - of students always standing around in groups on the piazza. Apparently they all gather together and go into the church at the same time - my time. However, unlike at the Uffizzi, where one really wants to be alone to ponder the art, in this immense church (designed for preaching to crowds) I could avoid the clumps of people by walking ahead or behind them.

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There was a moment when I and a few others were trying to go one way through a doorway, and 75 kids were coming in the other direction. This is why the Italians say "mio dio!"

There are some beautiful things inside, from tombs on the floor to frescoes on the walls. I was not impressed by the "important" tombs for Michelangelo, Galileo, Machiavelli, Dante, Marconi (Marconi! Radio!) and Gioachino Rossini, as these were big slabs of stuff assembled against the walls (have to admit there was some art in Vasari's tomb for Michelangelo - as a tribute, he painted his figures in the out-there, muscular manner of the master) and finished it off with three female statues, Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, all sad. Also the Brunelleschi chapel, some of the paintings in the adjacent museum, were lovely. (See pictures).

Let's see... Michelangelo died in Rome and Florentines had to steal his body back; Dante was banished by the Florentines and is buried in Ravenna, the church delayed letting Galilleo into any church for a very long time, and Machiavelli was arrested and tortured by the Medicis and banished from Florence. Rossini died in Paris and was later removed to Santa Croce by patriotic Italians.

At least Michelangelo actually prayed here. He lived one block east on Via dei Bentaccordi 15. He liked to walk over to the piazza, kick the old soccer ball around, and watch the tourists.

March 18, 2007, Sunday    Been here a week!

This marks one week since I arrived at my new apartment in Borgo Allegri.

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I am happy here. Took some photos this morning of Fabbio and Martina.

The Tokyo String Quartet concert last night was fabuloso. I think my nerves have been rubbed a bit raw. I found myself not only hyper-alert to the music, all of which Joselyn and I have played many times, but also moved, almost to tears, and to big, happy smiles, esp. in the Mozart K589. I had a primo seat four rows from the front, three seats in, and could easily see the faces and movements of each musician. The first violin and cellist are American and English, in that order, and the second violin and violist are Japanese. I wonder where they all live? Together in one city? Do they suffer jet lag?

The concert: Mozart K. 589, Beethoven Op. 59 #2, then Beethoven Op. 59 #3 (our old friend, with the rapidissimo finale of the last movement). Many call backs, and an encore: The third movement of the Debussy string quartet. If there is more than one Debussy string quartet, then I don't know which they actually played. Introducing the encore, the first violinist put hand on heart and said in half-Italian, half-English... "now for something not quite so FAST!"

I am going back tonight for their second concert: Mozart K. 575, Mozart K. 590, and Beethoven Op. 59 #1 with the lovely cello opening. The players are Martin Beaver VI, Kikuei Ikeda VII, Kazuhide Isomura, viola; and Clive Greensmith, cello.

I took photos of the lovely hall, which looks more like an opera house than a venue for chamber music. At the fourth photo I was emphatically stopped by an usher, who told me no photos, flash or otherwise.

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I can't imagine why (when there is no one on stage, and I don't use flash) - why would they not like their beautiful Teatro della Pergola to be in someone's scrapbook?

After the concert, dinner with Annette and Nancy at Ristorante Natalino at Borgo Albizi 17r. 138 Euro for three persons; antipasti, two plates, and dessert, and a bottle of Chianti (Ducale Riserva; if it's good enough for the duke...). We were charged, as is customary, 2 E each for "pane & coperto". For the second course we all had the same thing: Florentine beefsteak sliced thin, covered with something green; maybe lettuce? and flavored with aceto balsamico. Yumm! I enjoyed a nice Panna Cotta until it was explained to me that it's all cooked cream, with vanilla and gelatin. Yumm! Calories!

    Staying Alive

The churchbells at Santa Croce are ringing beautifully this Sunday. The streets are busy as usual, but not as hectic as weekday workdays. I am completely over jet lag (it has taken more than a week to have zero lingering side effects, such as waking up at 4 in the morning and staying awake). Now I have more time to stay alive.

A typical sidewalk here is two cobblestones wide. On this sidewalk may be mothers with babies in strollers, people lugging wheeled suitcases, business guys striding along with briefcases, women walking while talking into their mobiles, elderly ladies with food in bulging bags, and me with my backpack. We all must pass each other on these two-cobblestone paths without knocking each other off into traffic. Just to the left of my left ankle may be a large bus, or a car, or several speeding and noisy motobiciclette... One false step and you are in the ospedale, or worse.

To let others pass we step off the sidewalk if we can, but then cars come up behind and play tag with your buttocks. Leaving the concert Saturday evening a whole bunch of white-haired older concertgoers were cluttering up the two-cobblestone path. I stepped around a couple, and realized a large car was just behind me, waiting for me to clear off. I did not hear it, did not see it, and thank god for brakes.

In "Italians Dance & I'm a Wallflower" Linda Falcone points out "Uno dev'essere sveglio" "One must be awake."  Her friend says, "People from the New World always walk like you do, with half their brains turned off, as if the world were a field of daisies... to live well in Italy, uno dev'essere sveglio. Italy is a dangerous place for those who sleep. You have to keep your eyes open and look out for yourself."

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