It’s a well-known fact that my brother and I suffer from terrible foot odor, a genetic anomaly which I passed down to one of my children (name withheld to protect the guilty). In fact, a former co-worker went so far as to buy me a can of foot powder for Christmas one year. Fortunately, I have a well-developed sense of humor and I thought it was a hoot…it was also largely ineffective.
I brought 3 pairs of shoes with me on this trip, one of which already needed to be replaced, but were so comfortable I just had to bring them. All the walking I have done since arriving 5 weeks ago has worn that pair out, so I had to sacrifice them to the dumpster. This left me in need of a pair of shoes. Italy has some interesting shoes, many of which are modified tennis shoes, but with different designs and colors so they don’t actually scream, “AMERICAN ATHLETIC SHOES” like my name brand cross-trainers from home. I trotted down to the shoe store here in Cortona to peer at the choices and saw several pairs I liked in flashy silver and gold metallic colors. Maybe I can dance like little Claudia in a pair of those! I priced them, 59-129 euro ($94-$206, things are expensive here!), and thought I’d look at some shops in Arezzo before making a commitment.
After heading to San Gimignano and not finding Rita, I wandered the town fighting the crowds of tourists much like a salmon swimming upstream. I sat at an outdoor café and indulged in an eiskafe’; espresso, coffee-flavored ice cream, and whipped cream decorated with a wooden pick with a spill of metallic multi-colored streamers attached to the top rather like a miniature fireworks display which I kept because it makes me smile.
I poked in and out of shops and found some more beautiful Italian cards to bring home. I have 5 boxes now…Italy is known for beautiful papers and stationary and I simply cannot resist them. I also ran across a couple of shoes stores and decided to be brave and try some on. I liked two pairs, but decided to think about it as they were quite expensive. When I returned to the shop the girl who’d helped me was gone for the day and the other staff could not locate this one particular pair of shoes. They were the same style as a pair in the window, but rather than the plain canvas fabric, they had an embroidered shimmery fabric insert. I was persistent and asked the nice young woman to look through ALL the boxes in my size, and sure enough, she found them!
When I returned home I found a manual in the shoebox telling me, in 5 languages, all about my new shoes. If I’d known I was going to get reading material in addition to shoes, I’d not have bothered to buy that last annoying paperback book. The booklet informed me that I had just purchased revolutionary shoes that breathe, a fact illustrated by a picture of a shoe with steam issuing forth from the sole. Apparently, feet are one of the areas of the body with the highest concentration of “sudoriferous glands” at 366 per cm2 which assist the body in thermoregulation. Alarmingly, the bikini area of the female figure pictured has a similar concentration of sweat glands, but we’ll pursue that topic another day. The next page explained that our feet produce 100 liters of sweat per year and the rubber soles on shoes cause condensation much like a plastic bag tied ‘round the foot. This information was accompanied by a picture of a foot in a plastic bag. Now, this reminds me of my childhood in the harsh Wisconsin winters. When my brother and I went out to play snow often filled our boots causing wet feet so my mother took to putting plastic Wonder Bread bags, decorated with brightly colored circles, around our feet over our socks before putting on the snow boots. The combination of a hot and toxically smelly foot inside a Wonder Bread bag inside a pair of vinyl boots for an extended period of time probably explains why the brightly colored circles on those bags mysteriously turned brown, and vaporized right off the bag.
These Italian miracle shoes are designed with a special microporous membrane which expels perspiration without letting water enter. I can almost visualize the bad odor being pumped out of each shoe with every step causing nearby plants and flowers to wither and die as I walk past. It’s rather like farting in that respect. I must be cautious not to walk near any cash crops in those shoes or the noxious fumes could result in a loss of revenue for the farmer. For instance, if I were to take a tour of some of the vineyards near Montalcino, the only place in the world where Brunello wine is be made, my flatulent footwear could cause the loss of much of the Sangiovese Grosso clone grape harvest ruining the economy of a small town, and changing direction of Italian agriculture. Mio Dio! My feet could change history!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Looking for Bella Rita
I drove to San Gimignano for the second time in hopes I would find Rita at work at the gallery. Unfortunately, she was not there and the woman who working was unable to understand or answer my questions about when Rita would be back. I guess some encounters are just meant to be one time interactions. I was pretty let down as I am finding that I have a need to connect to people again and I really liked Rita.
Over the past 2½ weeks I’ve noticed that I seem to be returning to a childlike state. Like a primitive larvae, I am raw, unprotected, and vulnerable. It’s a scary feeling as I have always been independent and self-sufficient, with my barrier of fat to protect me. I find that being overweight is a wonderful, if semi-effective filter. Many people don’t care to look beyond the exterior to get to know me and that way I don’t have to ever have to confront the possibility that they will hurt or disappoint me. Now, as I am slowly losing weight and am in a situation where I am identified by the ways I am different: appearance, body type, dress, behavior, language, culture; it’s as though I am peeling away layers of the old me. I am unsure of myself in ways I never have been before. Is this my annual seasonal depression? Are these feelings the result of my body’s natural rhythm or the hormonal changes I am undergoing as my body gives up its ability to do what is unique to women, sustain another life? Or could this be a rebirth into a new life, like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon to protect itself as it changes into a creature of light? Will I emerge from this state of suspended animation or simply cease to be?
I fight tears many times these days. Perhaps I should give in and just have a good cry to release all that needs to be released. Somehow I seem unwilling to give in and let go. I am constantly reminded that one of these days some tiny thing will send me over the edge. I need to hike up to visit La Santa and beg her protection while I am in this neonatal stage, tender, curled around myself to conceal my vital organs.
I am very appreciative of the emails and words of encouragement I receive from friends and family back home as I undergo what I hope is a transformation.
Over the past 2½ weeks I’ve noticed that I seem to be returning to a childlike state. Like a primitive larvae, I am raw, unprotected, and vulnerable. It’s a scary feeling as I have always been independent and self-sufficient, with my barrier of fat to protect me. I find that being overweight is a wonderful, if semi-effective filter. Many people don’t care to look beyond the exterior to get to know me and that way I don’t have to ever have to confront the possibility that they will hurt or disappoint me. Now, as I am slowly losing weight and am in a situation where I am identified by the ways I am different: appearance, body type, dress, behavior, language, culture; it’s as though I am peeling away layers of the old me. I am unsure of myself in ways I never have been before. Is this my annual seasonal depression? Are these feelings the result of my body’s natural rhythm or the hormonal changes I am undergoing as my body gives up its ability to do what is unique to women, sustain another life? Or could this be a rebirth into a new life, like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon to protect itself as it changes into a creature of light? Will I emerge from this state of suspended animation or simply cease to be?
I fight tears many times these days. Perhaps I should give in and just have a good cry to release all that needs to be released. Somehow I seem unwilling to give in and let go. I am constantly reminded that one of these days some tiny thing will send me over the edge. I need to hike up to visit La Santa and beg her protection while I am in this neonatal stage, tender, curled around myself to conceal my vital organs.
I am very appreciative of the emails and words of encouragement I receive from friends and family back home as I undergo what I hope is a transformation.
The Haircut
I slept like a log last night after yesterday’s frustrations. When I awoke I walked down to David e Francesco’s hair salon to make an appointment for a cut and color as my gray hairs are beginning to show. The man at the desk told me they could take me right away and led me off to a chair. The nice, black, protective robe he gave me did not close across my front by about 8 inches; however a woman who walked in after me could wrap hers around 1½ times like one of those wraps skirts popular in the 70’s. Not an auspicious beginning.
A nice looking man poked around my head and asked me what color I wanted, and then a young woman came to assist him. Apparently the application of highlights is a team effort. The man carefully applied the highlights while the assistant handed him the foils. I thought the man was a stylish dresser with some sort of large metal chain detail on his belt until I noticed that it was actually a kind of small utility belt. On his left hip was a holster with that handles of about 15 pairs of shears sticking out.
After my highlights were in, the assistant was responsible for applying the rest of my haircolor, roots first, then the ends. While I waited for the color to develop I could observe other women benefitting from the same team approach to hair color I’d received. A hairdryer was installed above my head on a long retractable arm rather like a cherry picker and another station had a similar contraption but with 6 lamps in a spherical arrangement on it. I imagine the lamps help hair color develop when turned on, but I admit to a sneaking suspicion that, late at night, it’s used for Frankensteinesque surgical procedures and I was glad I’d come during the day! Perhaps the lamp is used to cultivate hair growth which might explain the luxuriant crop of neck hair on the bespectacled man I saw leaving the shop one evening a couple weeks ago! After 30 minutes I was taken back to the sinks where I received the more wonderful, gentle hair wash and head massage. Bliss!
Finally a third person, a young woman, then began my haircut. My only stipulation to her was that my hair not be too short. Well, she cut…and cut…and cut. Toward the end I noticed I was holding my breath and my leg was tingling where my clamped hand had cut off the circulation. After the shearing, er….haircut, I stumbled to the counter, apparently in a state of shock as I could not answer the owner, David (or was it Francesco?), when he asked if I liked my hair. Now, I am not a poker player at the best of times and my distress must have been apparent on my face. The best I could choke out in Italian is, “Maybe now I am a boy.” The poor man was so upset that he ran around the counter and explained that the stylist had employed the latest natural hair cutting techniques currently all the rage in Italy and he showed me the haircut from all angles with a mirror. Because he was so concerned, and the dear stylist so obviously upset, I resisted the urge to inform him that farmers in Scotland have been employing these shearing techniques on sheep for eons. He pointed out I looked younger and felt sure in a week I’d like my hair. Another man kindly came up behind me and ran his fingers through the back of my hair which is always enough to make me weak in the knees. Actually, David (Francesco?) with his earnest blue-gray eyes, dark hair, and little strip of chin hair talking to me from a distance of about 12 inches was enough to make me weak in the knees; however the fact that I now resembled a small boy on his first day of school rendered me unable to flirt. Ok, I actually don’t know how to flirt, but if I did know how I’d have been tempted.
I stumbled home and fought the urge to pour a stiff one while I tried to “fix” my hair, to no avail. My hair really does go into a state of shock when it’s first cut and there’s no doing anything with it for 7-10 days. My new boyish looks also make those spam emails I frequently receive advertising that I can “grow my penis 1-3 inches” take on a sinister new meaning. Additionally, a fashion dilemma has now reared it's ugly head. Shall I wear false eyelashes and big earrings and try to look female, or I should wear a black t-shirt and quit shaving my beard to have that much desired transvestite look so popular in certain circles? Choices, choices! How will I ever decide? I wonder how much they charge for a session with that hair growing machine….
A nice looking man poked around my head and asked me what color I wanted, and then a young woman came to assist him. Apparently the application of highlights is a team effort. The man carefully applied the highlights while the assistant handed him the foils. I thought the man was a stylish dresser with some sort of large metal chain detail on his belt until I noticed that it was actually a kind of small utility belt. On his left hip was a holster with that handles of about 15 pairs of shears sticking out.
After my highlights were in, the assistant was responsible for applying the rest of my haircolor, roots first, then the ends. While I waited for the color to develop I could observe other women benefitting from the same team approach to hair color I’d received. A hairdryer was installed above my head on a long retractable arm rather like a cherry picker and another station had a similar contraption but with 6 lamps in a spherical arrangement on it. I imagine the lamps help hair color develop when turned on, but I admit to a sneaking suspicion that, late at night, it’s used for Frankensteinesque surgical procedures and I was glad I’d come during the day! Perhaps the lamp is used to cultivate hair growth which might explain the luxuriant crop of neck hair on the bespectacled man I saw leaving the shop one evening a couple weeks ago! After 30 minutes I was taken back to the sinks where I received the more wonderful, gentle hair wash and head massage. Bliss!
Finally a third person, a young woman, then began my haircut. My only stipulation to her was that my hair not be too short. Well, she cut…and cut…and cut. Toward the end I noticed I was holding my breath and my leg was tingling where my clamped hand had cut off the circulation. After the shearing, er….haircut, I stumbled to the counter, apparently in a state of shock as I could not answer the owner, David (or was it Francesco?), when he asked if I liked my hair. Now, I am not a poker player at the best of times and my distress must have been apparent on my face. The best I could choke out in Italian is, “Maybe now I am a boy.” The poor man was so upset that he ran around the counter and explained that the stylist had employed the latest natural hair cutting techniques currently all the rage in Italy and he showed me the haircut from all angles with a mirror. Because he was so concerned, and the dear stylist so obviously upset, I resisted the urge to inform him that farmers in Scotland have been employing these shearing techniques on sheep for eons. He pointed out I looked younger and felt sure in a week I’d like my hair. Another man kindly came up behind me and ran his fingers through the back of my hair which is always enough to make me weak in the knees. Actually, David (Francesco?) with his earnest blue-gray eyes, dark hair, and little strip of chin hair talking to me from a distance of about 12 inches was enough to make me weak in the knees; however the fact that I now resembled a small boy on his first day of school rendered me unable to flirt. Ok, I actually don’t know how to flirt, but if I did know how I’d have been tempted.
I stumbled home and fought the urge to pour a stiff one while I tried to “fix” my hair, to no avail. My hair really does go into a state of shock when it’s first cut and there’s no doing anything with it for 7-10 days. My new boyish looks also make those spam emails I frequently receive advertising that I can “grow my penis 1-3 inches” take on a sinister new meaning. Additionally, a fashion dilemma has now reared it's ugly head. Shall I wear false eyelashes and big earrings and try to look female, or I should wear a black t-shirt and quit shaving my beard to have that much desired transvestite look so popular in certain circles? Choices, choices! How will I ever decide? I wonder how much they charge for a session with that hair growing machine….
Cinque Terre....or Not
I arose at 6:00 yesterday morning, eager to be on my way to Cinque Terre on the west coast of Italy, near the Italian Riviera. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm and I was in good spirits. On my way out the stone gate to the city, a woman entering in her station wagon, cut the corner too close and ran over my wheeled backpack containing my computer. What’s worse, she didn’t even stop to see if was my bag she’d hit or my foot. Such flagrant disregard for my person! I should have looked more closely to see if it was actually one of those hideous marionettes driving.
The trip northwest through Florence, Lucca, and on to La Spezia was uneventful, if a bit long at 4 hours. I traveled through at least 10 tunnels, including one hair-raising one which exited on a sharply curving, narrow bridge crossing a deep gorge just outside Lucca. Yikes! It was enough to give me a heart failure. Worse yet, in one of the tunnels, a motorcycle was driving down the center line, passing cars right and left. Made me wish I’d taken a Valium for my nerves before I left home!
In La Spezia I got my first glimpse of the blue, blue water of the Ligurian Sea. The harbor was full of ships and I saw the rigging of what looked to be a masted schooner, but I could not see the body of the ship itself due to some sort of retaining wall.
C inque Terre or “five lands” is not far from La Spezia, and I stopped at the conveniently located tourist information center upon entering the park, only to find it closed. My blood sugar was dropping so I headed to the attached restaurant, closed again; and then tried the local specialties shop, also closed. I was beginning to detect an unfortunate trend.
The area is absolutely breathtaking, steep mountains dropping precipitously into the turquoise waters. Houses cling to the steep mountainsides by some mysterious fashion, and the land is cultivated by a series of steep terraces planted with grapes vines and olive trees. The narrow road was just barely notched into the hillside with few guardrails to protect the unwary traveler. The frequent cyclers and hikers just added additional hazards to make the route much like a dangerous and life-threatening obstacle course.
Eventually I turned off the main road onto a local village road and the real fun began. The road was one lane wide, and extremely twisty, with switchbacks and blind curves and only a few narrow areas to pull off to the side in the event one car needed to pass another. After 15 nerve-wracking minutes I passed a parking area on the right, but elected to continue in toward the town. One thing I have learned is never to park in the first car park I come to as it is often located a mile out of town. As I made my careful approach into the village saw a sign showing a roundabout, so thought I’d turn around there and go back to the parking lot. Great idea, but just then a hat wearing lady gave me the evil eye and lowered a cross bar across the road barring my access and making me feel unwelcome. Now what was I to do? I was on a one lane road with a metal railing on the right to keep me out of the bay, and a steep hill on the left. Fortunately, there was a small, upward sloping drive way to the left, so I negotiated a complex series of maneuvers and managed to turn the car around under the disapproving stare of the Gate Keeper and a number of tourists who’d stopped to enjoy the show. I fancy they were laying down bets as to whether I could successfully turn around or would nick the metal railing. Ha, I showed them! At any rate, my nerves were now frayed and I didn’t feel welcome in the town, so I headed back out.
Back in La Spezia, I stopped by McDonald’s for a terrible Big Mac and a tour of the toilet paperless bathroom. I exited the autostrada in Carrara to look for a hotel thinking I could stay the night and explore the area another day when I wasn’t so tired. Think again! I drove around Carrara for an hour and never saw one hotel, guesthouse, B&B or anything of the sort. Carrara is a good-sized town so how could it contain no hotels? Granted, after an hour of driving up and down one-way streets trying to avoid Vespas and cars that stop in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, I didn’t want to stay in Carrara either. Incidentally this is the town where the world famous white marble is mined, and large blocks were visible here and there all over town, looking like a series of misplaced icebergs.
Next stop was Montecatini Terme, a city famous for its natural springs, and which contained a multitude of hotels for those there to partake of the curative waters, however I either could not find parking to inquire about a room or I located nearby parking only to be told the hotel was full. It had become one of those hamster-in-a-wheel-never-getting-anywhere kinds of days. Finally, 11 hours after setting off, I returned home. Next time I will make a hotel reservation and save myself the headache!
The trip northwest through Florence, Lucca, and on to La Spezia was uneventful, if a bit long at 4 hours. I traveled through at least 10 tunnels, including one hair-raising one which exited on a sharply curving, narrow bridge crossing a deep gorge just outside Lucca. Yikes! It was enough to give me a heart failure. Worse yet, in one of the tunnels, a motorcycle was driving down the center line, passing cars right and left. Made me wish I’d taken a Valium for my nerves before I left home!
In La Spezia I got my first glimpse of the blue, blue water of the Ligurian Sea. The harbor was full of ships and I saw the rigging of what looked to be a masted schooner, but I could not see the body of the ship itself due to some sort of retaining wall.
C inque Terre or “five lands” is not far from La Spezia, and I stopped at the conveniently located tourist information center upon entering the park, only to find it closed. My blood sugar was dropping so I headed to the attached restaurant, closed again; and then tried the local specialties shop, also closed. I was beginning to detect an unfortunate trend.
The area is absolutely breathtaking, steep mountains dropping precipitously into the turquoise waters. Houses cling to the steep mountainsides by some mysterious fashion, and the land is cultivated by a series of steep terraces planted with grapes vines and olive trees. The narrow road was just barely notched into the hillside with few guardrails to protect the unwary traveler. The frequent cyclers and hikers just added additional hazards to make the route much like a dangerous and life-threatening obstacle course.
Eventually I turned off the main road onto a local village road and the real fun began. The road was one lane wide, and extremely twisty, with switchbacks and blind curves and only a few narrow areas to pull off to the side in the event one car needed to pass another. After 15 nerve-wracking minutes I passed a parking area on the right, but elected to continue in toward the town. One thing I have learned is never to park in the first car park I come to as it is often located a mile out of town. As I made my careful approach into the village saw a sign showing a roundabout, so thought I’d turn around there and go back to the parking lot. Great idea, but just then a hat wearing lady gave me the evil eye and lowered a cross bar across the road barring my access and making me feel unwelcome. Now what was I to do? I was on a one lane road with a metal railing on the right to keep me out of the bay, and a steep hill on the left. Fortunately, there was a small, upward sloping drive way to the left, so I negotiated a complex series of maneuvers and managed to turn the car around under the disapproving stare of the Gate Keeper and a number of tourists who’d stopped to enjoy the show. I fancy they were laying down bets as to whether I could successfully turn around or would nick the metal railing. Ha, I showed them! At any rate, my nerves were now frayed and I didn’t feel welcome in the town, so I headed back out.
Back in La Spezia, I stopped by McDonald’s for a terrible Big Mac and a tour of the toilet paperless bathroom. I exited the autostrada in Carrara to look for a hotel thinking I could stay the night and explore the area another day when I wasn’t so tired. Think again! I drove around Carrara for an hour and never saw one hotel, guesthouse, B&B or anything of the sort. Carrara is a good-sized town so how could it contain no hotels? Granted, after an hour of driving up and down one-way streets trying to avoid Vespas and cars that stop in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, I didn’t want to stay in Carrara either. Incidentally this is the town where the world famous white marble is mined, and large blocks were visible here and there all over town, looking like a series of misplaced icebergs.
Next stop was Montecatini Terme, a city famous for its natural springs, and which contained a multitude of hotels for those there to partake of the curative waters, however I either could not find parking to inquire about a room or I located nearby parking only to be told the hotel was full. It had become one of those hamster-in-a-wheel-never-getting-anywhere kinds of days. Finally, 11 hours after setting off, I returned home. Next time I will make a hotel reservation and save myself the headache!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Back to Arezzo
I was off to Arezzo sul’autobus, on the bus, at 8:45 this morning. I was planning to do some shopping and have lunch in Arezzo for the 5 hours I had to wait to pick up the car at 3:00. The drive was gorgeous! In the 3 ½ weeks since I last had a vehicle the flowers have blossomed. The roadsides are carpeted with scarlet poppies, soft violet wild irises, and a variety of other yellow and white flowers. Just beautiful! In additional, the grapes vines, previously twisted, dead looking bits of wood, have now leafed out and begun their tenacious sprawl. The rain we’ve had has turned the countryside a violent green.
Upon arriving at my destination the drizzle began and I spent the rest of the day, hood up, dripping wet and cold. What’s more, almost none of the shops were open, nor the café’ where I wanted to have lunch. I did find an unimpressive, heavy metal music playing café redeemed by a wonderful coffee called a Cappuccino Argentino. The barista put some chocolate on top of the cappuccino and then made a fancy pattern, sort of a snowflake, by drawing a toothpick through the foamed milk and chocolate. It was heavenly!
I did hike the hill and visited the cathedral with its beautiful stained glass windows. A pope is interred in a glass coffin, so I took a picture of him, amazed by the fact that his skin appeared to be shimmering gold. I wonder if they actually painted him with gold leaf. Next time I locate the internet I will do some research on the subject. Off to one side was a small chapel that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Candle lit, with a beautiful glowing altar and many flowers. I took a picture, but could not walk in as I felt I would disrupt the energy flow in this amazing place and interrupt those who were praying. It was so incredibly beautiful that I stood outside for many moments staring in wonder and could hardly tear myself away.
Eventually I found the car rental office and asked if I could pick up the drop off the car early, which they agreed to. I was going to head off the San Gimignano to see if I could find Bella Rita, but with the weather so terrible and the fact that I would arrive during the siesta hours and have to wait to see if her shop was even open today, I decided to wait until Saturday. Incidentally, I did try to email Rita at the address she provided, but the email was returned as undeliverable.
While wandering up via Nazionale yesterday, I came across my artist friend, Conrad, having coffee. He invited me to join him and I passed a pleasant couple of hours chatting with him, drinking coffee and eating lunch. He asked me to look him up if ever I am in Glasgow and he gave me his contact information. I think I’ll send him a card when I return home...everyone enjoys a bit of mail!
I am mapping out my trip for I plan to leave for Cinque Terre early tomorrow. This map of Italy I have a real monster. It’s 3 feet by 4 feet and has Italy on BOTH SIDES. My car is not large enough for me to unfold the map while inside. I guess I shall have to dismount the car and spread the map out on the pavement for a really good look. Have you ever noticed that men have a special map gene which allows them to negotiate the complicated fan folding of a map successfully, which women just crumple the thing into a ball, or better yet, tear out the little part they need to use on a particular day? I, personally, like to mark the map all up with felt-tip markers and highlighters. It adds an element of extra confusion the next time I want to go somewhere other than where I mapped my route last time.
Upon arriving at my destination the drizzle began and I spent the rest of the day, hood up, dripping wet and cold. What’s more, almost none of the shops were open, nor the café’ where I wanted to have lunch. I did find an unimpressive, heavy metal music playing café redeemed by a wonderful coffee called a Cappuccino Argentino. The barista put some chocolate on top of the cappuccino and then made a fancy pattern, sort of a snowflake, by drawing a toothpick through the foamed milk and chocolate. It was heavenly!
I did hike the hill and visited the cathedral with its beautiful stained glass windows. A pope is interred in a glass coffin, so I took a picture of him, amazed by the fact that his skin appeared to be shimmering gold. I wonder if they actually painted him with gold leaf. Next time I locate the internet I will do some research on the subject. Off to one side was a small chapel that was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Candle lit, with a beautiful glowing altar and many flowers. I took a picture, but could not walk in as I felt I would disrupt the energy flow in this amazing place and interrupt those who were praying. It was so incredibly beautiful that I stood outside for many moments staring in wonder and could hardly tear myself away.
Eventually I found the car rental office and asked if I could pick up the drop off the car early, which they agreed to. I was going to head off the San Gimignano to see if I could find Bella Rita, but with the weather so terrible and the fact that I would arrive during the siesta hours and have to wait to see if her shop was even open today, I decided to wait until Saturday. Incidentally, I did try to email Rita at the address she provided, but the email was returned as undeliverable.
While wandering up via Nazionale yesterday, I came across my artist friend, Conrad, having coffee. He invited me to join him and I passed a pleasant couple of hours chatting with him, drinking coffee and eating lunch. He asked me to look him up if ever I am in Glasgow and he gave me his contact information. I think I’ll send him a card when I return home...everyone enjoys a bit of mail!
I am mapping out my trip for I plan to leave for Cinque Terre early tomorrow. This map of Italy I have a real monster. It’s 3 feet by 4 feet and has Italy on BOTH SIDES. My car is not large enough for me to unfold the map while inside. I guess I shall have to dismount the car and spread the map out on the pavement for a really good look. Have you ever noticed that men have a special map gene which allows them to negotiate the complicated fan folding of a map successfully, which women just crumple the thing into a ball, or better yet, tear out the little part they need to use on a particular day? I, personally, like to mark the map all up with felt-tip markers and highlighters. It adds an element of extra confusion the next time I want to go somewhere other than where I mapped my route last time.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
A Search for Bramasole
It’s been a quiet week for me. I find I am getting a bit housebound so I’ve reserved a car rental for next week and I must go to Arezzo to pick up the car on Monday. I’ve decided to head north to Cinque Terre and, perhaps, to see the Matterhorn from the Italian side. While in Arezzo I will visit a clothing store which I believe is for larger women, but I will studiously avoid the 4 nuns in their bookshop!
Today I visited the Etruscan museum, which was very nice and quite interesting. There were a few examples of their gold jewelry, including some with the decoration attributed to the Etruscans known as granulation. There was a beautiful diadem made of gold in a leaf pattern, so finely made it looked as though it would disintegrate should one pick it up. I wonder what beautiful woman (or man?)wore such a delicate golden headpiece. There were even such Egyptian mummies on display and a pair of globes, one of the world and one representing constellations and astrological signs which must have been 4 feet in diameter. Really incredible! There was a balcony on the outside of the museum which overlooks my apartment and the works-in-progress on the cathedral across the street. I took a picture of both to share with you.
I have been looking for Bramasole, the home of Frances Mayes, with no luck so far. There is a vague reference to it on a sign near Piazza Garibaldi, so I wandered off in that general direction. I caught a glimpse of what could have been it on a terrace above my head as I walked down a rocky path somewhere near Cortona, but I could not get a good look at it and there wasn’t a helpful “Bramasole” sign in a stone wall like in the movie!
I have amended my travel plans a bit. I will only go to Cinque Terre, not to the Matterhorn, and return on Friday as Maria has invited me to the house for pizza with another guest, a man she used to teach Italian to. I appreciate her offer to include me so I will plan my travel around that evening. She would have loved to come to Cinque Terre with me, my simply cannot afford to do so. Her daughter, Laura, is coming to visit the end of May and Maria is very excited about the visit. I am looking forward to meeting Laura as well, as she is the one with whom I made the rental arrangements.
Today I visited the Etruscan museum, which was very nice and quite interesting. There were a few examples of their gold jewelry, including some with the decoration attributed to the Etruscans known as granulation. There was a beautiful diadem made of gold in a leaf pattern, so finely made it looked as though it would disintegrate should one pick it up. I wonder what beautiful woman (or man?)wore such a delicate golden headpiece. There were even such Egyptian mummies on display and a pair of globes, one of the world and one representing constellations and astrological signs which must have been 4 feet in diameter. Really incredible! There was a balcony on the outside of the museum which overlooks my apartment and the works-in-progress on the cathedral across the street. I took a picture of both to share with you.
I have been looking for Bramasole, the home of Frances Mayes, with no luck so far. There is a vague reference to it on a sign near Piazza Garibaldi, so I wandered off in that general direction. I caught a glimpse of what could have been it on a terrace above my head as I walked down a rocky path somewhere near Cortona, but I could not get a good look at it and there wasn’t a helpful “Bramasole” sign in a stone wall like in the movie!
I have amended my travel plans a bit. I will only go to Cinque Terre, not to the Matterhorn, and return on Friday as Maria has invited me to the house for pizza with another guest, a man she used to teach Italian to. I appreciate her offer to include me so I will plan my travel around that evening. She would have loved to come to Cinque Terre with me, my simply cannot afford to do so. Her daughter, Laura, is coming to visit the end of May and Maria is very excited about the visit. I am looking forward to meeting Laura as well, as she is the one with whom I made the rental arrangements.
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