Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Pisa on a Whim
Yesterday, Saturday, I went to Pisa, a decision I made late Friday night. I am becoming brave!
I woke early, at 5:10, in spite of a night of restless sleep…first a dog barking incessantly and then a rain storm with terrible winds. I walked through the darkened streets, and watched the town just beginning to wake. My favorite bar was brightly lit and I saw someone inside huddled up in the kitchen, probably warming their hands in the oven. The 6:20 bus to Terontola arrived first which took me right to the station where I caught the 6:45 train to Firenze, and, after a quick change, the train to Pisa Centrale.
After a bathroom stop at the station, I walked across the street and partook in an Italian tradition, a coffee drunk standing at the counter of a bar. I had a small map of Pisa, but stopped for a larger one at the tourist office, around the corner from the bar. My Lonely Planet guidebook suggested it would take about twenty-five minutes to walk to the duomo and I suppose it did, but now that I have achieved a higher level of fitness, I just don’t notice those walks much anymore. Hurray! I crossed the wide Arno River near a tiny, but ornate church called Santa Maria della Spina, so called as it was built to hold a single thorn reputedly from Christ’s crown of thorns. This beautiful little church huddles curiously on the sidewalk right at the edge of the river.
After another 10 minute walk, I crossed a wide pedestrian mall containing the Piazza dei Miracoli, to behold a breathtaking sight, the duomo and its world-famous bell tower, Il Torre Pendente, the leaning tower of Pisa. I approached the tower from the side beneath its precarious tilt, feeling curiously uneasy as though the brilliantly white structure might actually topple over on me in spite of the team of engineers who strive to keep it leaning, but upright. It was a gorgeous day and the sparkling, crystal structure stood out magnificently against the cerulean sky. I took a multitude of pictures, and then purchased a ticket to visit the baptistry and the cemetery (said to contain soil shipped from Calvary during the crusades) contained within the piazza, neither of which, in hindsight, were really worth the money.
I enjoyed the duomo, which had an immense, flat ceiling decorated with carved wooden rosettes painted with gold leaf similar to the ceiling of Santa Maria Maggiore which I visited in Rome. I wandered around, slowly, admiring the frescoes and the brightly-colored stained glass windows through which the sun shone sending a series of miniature rainbows bouncing around the interior of the cathedral. Fortunately no one seemed to mind picture taking so I snapped away happily.
After visiting the cemetery and the little domed baptistry, both more impressive from the outside than from within, I walked back toward town to explore the medieval alleyways. I popped into a couple of shops but didn’t find anything other than some 3-D Christmas labels to purchase. I turned left upon reaching the flat, wide Arno River and walked a couple of blocks before returning to the piazza to locate a likely place for lunch. Many of the cafés and restaurants in the area feature annoying employees who stand prominently near the entrance and attempt, rather obnoxiously, to lure you in for a drink or lunch. I avoided these places and selected one where a waiter stood ready to answer questions or provide a seat, but did not actively pursue my business.
I was seated outside at my request and when I heard a couple speaking English behind me, I inquired if the young woman was enjoying her pizza. She said it was very good so I ordered a mozzarella, speck (rather like prosciutto), and gorgonzola pizza, which was tasty although I would have preferred a bit more gorgonzola. The couple, he was 58 and she 22, continued to chat with me and the conversations took an oddly circular yet strangely unrelated path; she talking of their travels together and where she’d like to visit next, and he of his life as a butcher and of the importance of a quality cut of meat. I could never ascertain their relationship…they’d obviously traveled together before and yet there were no obvious endearments nor did she call him “dad” or “grandpa”. The man was annoyingly persistent in his notion that Americans are wealthy and money is no object when it comes to our spending habits. He also wanted to know if Texas has many buffalo and inquired if the “Indians” still want some of their land back. All in all a rather unusual lunch conversation, but they were friendly and lunch passed quickly in their company.
After lunch I felt as though I had seen what I wanted to see in Pisa, so I walked back to the station and caught a train for home. All was well until I tried to open the door to exit the train at Camucia and the door wouldn’t budge. I was forced to travel on to the next stop in Terontola, where a young woman and I had the same problem until it occurred to her (but not to me) that the train had pulled up to a platform on the opposite side of where it normally arrives, and sure enough, the door on that side opened! I guess I will need to learn to check BOTH sides before trying to get off the train. I was left to purchase a bus ticket from Terontola to Cortona, a distance of about 10-15 kilometers, and then wandered the tiny village for an hour trying to keep warm until the bus arrived. When I entered Cortona it was to find workers hanging Christmas lights down via Nazionale and across Piazza della Repubblica. I wonder when they will turn them on!
As of Tuesday, the holiday lights are still dark, but we had snow yesterday morning! Enormous, wet flakes which hit the ground with a juicy splat, and made carrying an open umbrella a necessity. I also received a heartfelt and loving email from my friend, Perry. Its contents are private, but suffice it to say, his friendship is a joy to me. How lucky I am!
I woke early, at 5:10, in spite of a night of restless sleep…first a dog barking incessantly and then a rain storm with terrible winds. I walked through the darkened streets, and watched the town just beginning to wake. My favorite bar was brightly lit and I saw someone inside huddled up in the kitchen, probably warming their hands in the oven. The 6:20 bus to Terontola arrived first which took me right to the station where I caught the 6:45 train to Firenze, and, after a quick change, the train to Pisa Centrale.
After a bathroom stop at the station, I walked across the street and partook in an Italian tradition, a coffee drunk standing at the counter of a bar. I had a small map of Pisa, but stopped for a larger one at the tourist office, around the corner from the bar. My Lonely Planet guidebook suggested it would take about twenty-five minutes to walk to the duomo and I suppose it did, but now that I have achieved a higher level of fitness, I just don’t notice those walks much anymore. Hurray! I crossed the wide Arno River near a tiny, but ornate church called Santa Maria della Spina, so called as it was built to hold a single thorn reputedly from Christ’s crown of thorns. This beautiful little church huddles curiously on the sidewalk right at the edge of the river.
After another 10 minute walk, I crossed a wide pedestrian mall containing the Piazza dei Miracoli, to behold a breathtaking sight, the duomo and its world-famous bell tower, Il Torre Pendente, the leaning tower of Pisa. I approached the tower from the side beneath its precarious tilt, feeling curiously uneasy as though the brilliantly white structure might actually topple over on me in spite of the team of engineers who strive to keep it leaning, but upright. It was a gorgeous day and the sparkling, crystal structure stood out magnificently against the cerulean sky. I took a multitude of pictures, and then purchased a ticket to visit the baptistry and the cemetery (said to contain soil shipped from Calvary during the crusades) contained within the piazza, neither of which, in hindsight, were really worth the money.
I enjoyed the duomo, which had an immense, flat ceiling decorated with carved wooden rosettes painted with gold leaf similar to the ceiling of Santa Maria Maggiore which I visited in Rome. I wandered around, slowly, admiring the frescoes and the brightly-colored stained glass windows through which the sun shone sending a series of miniature rainbows bouncing around the interior of the cathedral. Fortunately no one seemed to mind picture taking so I snapped away happily.
After visiting the cemetery and the little domed baptistry, both more impressive from the outside than from within, I walked back toward town to explore the medieval alleyways. I popped into a couple of shops but didn’t find anything other than some 3-D Christmas labels to purchase. I turned left upon reaching the flat, wide Arno River and walked a couple of blocks before returning to the piazza to locate a likely place for lunch. Many of the cafés and restaurants in the area feature annoying employees who stand prominently near the entrance and attempt, rather obnoxiously, to lure you in for a drink or lunch. I avoided these places and selected one where a waiter stood ready to answer questions or provide a seat, but did not actively pursue my business.
I was seated outside at my request and when I heard a couple speaking English behind me, I inquired if the young woman was enjoying her pizza. She said it was very good so I ordered a mozzarella, speck (rather like prosciutto), and gorgonzola pizza, which was tasty although I would have preferred a bit more gorgonzola. The couple, he was 58 and she 22, continued to chat with me and the conversations took an oddly circular yet strangely unrelated path; she talking of their travels together and where she’d like to visit next, and he of his life as a butcher and of the importance of a quality cut of meat. I could never ascertain their relationship…they’d obviously traveled together before and yet there were no obvious endearments nor did she call him “dad” or “grandpa”. The man was annoyingly persistent in his notion that Americans are wealthy and money is no object when it comes to our spending habits. He also wanted to know if Texas has many buffalo and inquired if the “Indians” still want some of their land back. All in all a rather unusual lunch conversation, but they were friendly and lunch passed quickly in their company.
After lunch I felt as though I had seen what I wanted to see in Pisa, so I walked back to the station and caught a train for home. All was well until I tried to open the door to exit the train at Camucia and the door wouldn’t budge. I was forced to travel on to the next stop in Terontola, where a young woman and I had the same problem until it occurred to her (but not to me) that the train had pulled up to a platform on the opposite side of where it normally arrives, and sure enough, the door on that side opened! I guess I will need to learn to check BOTH sides before trying to get off the train. I was left to purchase a bus ticket from Terontola to Cortona, a distance of about 10-15 kilometers, and then wandered the tiny village for an hour trying to keep warm until the bus arrived. When I entered Cortona it was to find workers hanging Christmas lights down via Nazionale and across Piazza della Repubblica. I wonder when they will turn them on!
As of Tuesday, the holiday lights are still dark, but we had snow yesterday morning! Enormous, wet flakes which hit the ground with a juicy splat, and made carrying an open umbrella a necessity. I also received a heartfelt and loving email from my friend, Perry. Its contents are private, but suffice it to say, his friendship is a joy to me. How lucky I am!
Friday, November 21, 2008
A Six Minute Romance
Like Tuesday, Wednesday was a clear and refreshingly brisk, no, downright cold, day so I decided to board the train to Orvieto. Orvieto is about 1 hour away on the Firenze-Roma train line, meaning I would have to make no transfer. I caught the 10:31 train in Camucia which actually pulled into the station ten minutes late putting me just slightly behind schedule. Because shops and attractions close from 1:00 until 4:00, particularly in the off season, sightseeing trips require careful planning.
My friends, Perry and Michael, told me to be sure to see the duomo and to get a tour of the caves of Orvieto, if possible. Pulling into Orvieto I was amazed by the fortress-like appearance of the town perched high atop a rock of volcanic origins like an eagle resting majestically on its nest. To access the steep rock, one purchases a ticket then walks across the street to the funicular (funicolare in Italian), where the ticket is inserted in a machine which validates it, then allows one person at a time to move through the turnstile. I was lucky enough to walk in and find the cable car waiting for me. In due time the car began the steep ascent and, near the middle, I noticed that the track branched before coming back together. I was curious about this branch, but quickly learned that there is a second cable car at the top of the hill and the two are carefully orchestrated to meet, and pass, each other at this branching of the track.
I gained access to the hill at one end and promptly began walking up a slight grade into the town proper. It is an attractive town of stone streets and narrow medieval alleyways, like most of the Tuscan hill towns. I knew the duomo was scheduled to close at 12:45 so I took my time looking in shops as I walked up, thinking that I would eat lunch while the duomo and shops were closed and tour the church interior when it reopened at 2:30.
As I walked into the Piazza del Duomo, I was amazed by the sheer size of this monstrous church and the bright colors of both the frescoes and the marble decorating the exterior. In addition to the shimmering paintings, the facade was covered with extravagantly carved figures and laced with windows, each as intricate and delicate as snowflakes. I snapped away, taking picture after picture of the magnificent structure, although I was disappointed to be unable to get a photo of the entire front of the church. The piazza was too small for me to get the entire structure in my viewfinder. I noticed groups of people being shepherded out so assumed, correctly, that the church was closing, so I turned and walked up a narrow street to explore the town.
Eventually I found myself at a small trattoria called La Grotta, where I stopped for my new favorite lunch; tagliatelle al ragu’, followed by tiramisu and a caffe latte’. This time the tagliatelle was made and sliced by hand, each lovingly prepared strand taking on a ruffled appearance as though cut by the shaking hand of an ancient nonna (grandma) clad in ubiquitous black. The tiramisu was heavenly and the coffee favored by this restaurant was particularly good.
I enjoyed a leisurely lunch and a friendly conversation with an American couple sitting next to me under a fresco which looked to be a woman whose head was being trampled by a bunch of human feet, a curiously unpleasant image which the restaurant chose to decorate its business cards. A most peculiar choice, I thought. I rounded the corner and walked back to the duomo and killed a bit of time shopping in a shop specializing in regional products and art featuring the town Orvieto. I saw some spectacular postcards showing an aerial view of Orvieto, its rooftops dominated by the monstrously huge and brilliantly colored cathedral. I would love to fly over Orvieto in a helicopter to get that incredible view.
I trailed into the cathedral upon its reopening and walked slowly around the interior, admiring the stained glass, frescoes, and unusual windows made of individual panes of translucent alabaster, unlike anything I have ever seen. As in most churches, a sign was posted prohibiting photography. I usually ignore this directive; however the guards must have seen intent in my eyes because they were all over me like a bad polyester leisure suit. Eventually I saw several other people pull out their cameras and begin unconcernedly snapping away, so I did likewise, discreetly, and the guards said nary a word. Of course, the church interior was dark and the pictures did not turn out as well as I had hoped. That’s what I get for ignoring the rules! As I eased my way toward the door I was struck by an overwhelming urge to sneeze which I tried to stifle by closing my mouth. This unfortunate move simply caused me to emit a tremendous quacking sound which bounced and echoed embarrassingly around the spartanly furnished interior like a fart let loose in a library. Boy, were the acoustics ever good.
I caught the 4:31 train home, having missed the cave tour due to the late arrival in the morning. As the train pulled into the Terontola station, the one prior to Camucia, I was leaning on a small counter looking out the window and thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, when I made eye contact with a dark-haired man on the platform. I was surprised to see that man pop into my car and ask if he could sit across from me in a nearly empty train car. I said, “Prego”, whereupon he sat and asked me where I was from. He asked my name and then introduced himself as Giuseppe. I took his outstretched hand and was surprised when he leaned over, kissed my right cheek, then tried to kiss me on the lips! I turned my head and he got my left cheek instead. He looked puzzled and inquired, “You are married?” to which I replied, “No, non sono sposata.” He asked me what my plans were for the next day and then asked me to his house for coffee. I sensed it wasn’t coffee he was interested in so I declined and he offered to come to my house, again “for coffee”. As I declined I explained that I didn’t know him. Had he invited me to a bar for coffee I just might have accepted. He continued to ask me questions about myself for the remainder of the trip, gazing at me intently as he did so.
I know you are dying to know what he looked like. Surprisingly he was young, maybe 35, and nice looking, with a young, boyish face. He looked like a nice guy, the kind I would normally be attracted to, but I was a bit alarmed by his forwardness.
He went on to tell me about groups of people who meet at his house to discuss Mormon religious beliefs and theology and, suddenly, a light bulb blinked on in my brain. I think this man wanted to slip me one of two things:
1. The proverbial "sausage"; or perhaps,
2. The Book of Mormon
Perhaps here in Italy, the land of love, they practice religious conversion by way of seduction. Or maybe he was actually interested in me. I will never know as the train pulled into my station after a mere six minutes and my last view was of him, turned sideways and leaning forward intently, as though he were about to leap out of his seat and across the aisle.
So, why didn’t I just go with it and let him kiss me? I think mainly because I was caught completely off guard by his move and was a bit nervous as we were nearly alone in a darkened train car. I still don’t know what his actual intention was. So, folks, I missed my opportunity and will just have to settle for a six minute romance. Six minutes is better than nothing, isn’t it?
My friends, Perry and Michael, told me to be sure to see the duomo and to get a tour of the caves of Orvieto, if possible. Pulling into Orvieto I was amazed by the fortress-like appearance of the town perched high atop a rock of volcanic origins like an eagle resting majestically on its nest. To access the steep rock, one purchases a ticket then walks across the street to the funicular (funicolare in Italian), where the ticket is inserted in a machine which validates it, then allows one person at a time to move through the turnstile. I was lucky enough to walk in and find the cable car waiting for me. In due time the car began the steep ascent and, near the middle, I noticed that the track branched before coming back together. I was curious about this branch, but quickly learned that there is a second cable car at the top of the hill and the two are carefully orchestrated to meet, and pass, each other at this branching of the track.
I gained access to the hill at one end and promptly began walking up a slight grade into the town proper. It is an attractive town of stone streets and narrow medieval alleyways, like most of the Tuscan hill towns. I knew the duomo was scheduled to close at 12:45 so I took my time looking in shops as I walked up, thinking that I would eat lunch while the duomo and shops were closed and tour the church interior when it reopened at 2:30.
As I walked into the Piazza del Duomo, I was amazed by the sheer size of this monstrous church and the bright colors of both the frescoes and the marble decorating the exterior. In addition to the shimmering paintings, the facade was covered with extravagantly carved figures and laced with windows, each as intricate and delicate as snowflakes. I snapped away, taking picture after picture of the magnificent structure, although I was disappointed to be unable to get a photo of the entire front of the church. The piazza was too small for me to get the entire structure in my viewfinder. I noticed groups of people being shepherded out so assumed, correctly, that the church was closing, so I turned and walked up a narrow street to explore the town.
Eventually I found myself at a small trattoria called La Grotta, where I stopped for my new favorite lunch; tagliatelle al ragu’, followed by tiramisu and a caffe latte’. This time the tagliatelle was made and sliced by hand, each lovingly prepared strand taking on a ruffled appearance as though cut by the shaking hand of an ancient nonna (grandma) clad in ubiquitous black. The tiramisu was heavenly and the coffee favored by this restaurant was particularly good.
I enjoyed a leisurely lunch and a friendly conversation with an American couple sitting next to me under a fresco which looked to be a woman whose head was being trampled by a bunch of human feet, a curiously unpleasant image which the restaurant chose to decorate its business cards. A most peculiar choice, I thought. I rounded the corner and walked back to the duomo and killed a bit of time shopping in a shop specializing in regional products and art featuring the town Orvieto. I saw some spectacular postcards showing an aerial view of Orvieto, its rooftops dominated by the monstrously huge and brilliantly colored cathedral. I would love to fly over Orvieto in a helicopter to get that incredible view.
I trailed into the cathedral upon its reopening and walked slowly around the interior, admiring the stained glass, frescoes, and unusual windows made of individual panes of translucent alabaster, unlike anything I have ever seen. As in most churches, a sign was posted prohibiting photography. I usually ignore this directive; however the guards must have seen intent in my eyes because they were all over me like a bad polyester leisure suit. Eventually I saw several other people pull out their cameras and begin unconcernedly snapping away, so I did likewise, discreetly, and the guards said nary a word. Of course, the church interior was dark and the pictures did not turn out as well as I had hoped. That’s what I get for ignoring the rules! As I eased my way toward the door I was struck by an overwhelming urge to sneeze which I tried to stifle by closing my mouth. This unfortunate move simply caused me to emit a tremendous quacking sound which bounced and echoed embarrassingly around the spartanly furnished interior like a fart let loose in a library. Boy, were the acoustics ever good.
I caught the 4:31 train home, having missed the cave tour due to the late arrival in the morning. As the train pulled into the Terontola station, the one prior to Camucia, I was leaning on a small counter looking out the window and thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, when I made eye contact with a dark-haired man on the platform. I was surprised to see that man pop into my car and ask if he could sit across from me in a nearly empty train car. I said, “Prego”, whereupon he sat and asked me where I was from. He asked my name and then introduced himself as Giuseppe. I took his outstretched hand and was surprised when he leaned over, kissed my right cheek, then tried to kiss me on the lips! I turned my head and he got my left cheek instead. He looked puzzled and inquired, “You are married?” to which I replied, “No, non sono sposata.” He asked me what my plans were for the next day and then asked me to his house for coffee. I sensed it wasn’t coffee he was interested in so I declined and he offered to come to my house, again “for coffee”. As I declined I explained that I didn’t know him. Had he invited me to a bar for coffee I just might have accepted. He continued to ask me questions about myself for the remainder of the trip, gazing at me intently as he did so.
I know you are dying to know what he looked like. Surprisingly he was young, maybe 35, and nice looking, with a young, boyish face. He looked like a nice guy, the kind I would normally be attracted to, but I was a bit alarmed by his forwardness.
He went on to tell me about groups of people who meet at his house to discuss Mormon religious beliefs and theology and, suddenly, a light bulb blinked on in my brain. I think this man wanted to slip me one of two things:
1. The proverbial "sausage"; or perhaps,
2. The Book of Mormon
Perhaps here in Italy, the land of love, they practice religious conversion by way of seduction. Or maybe he was actually interested in me. I will never know as the train pulled into my station after a mere six minutes and my last view was of him, turned sideways and leaning forward intently, as though he were about to leap out of his seat and across the aisle.
So, why didn’t I just go with it and let him kiss me? I think mainly because I was caught completely off guard by his move and was a bit nervous as we were nearly alone in a darkened train car. I still don’t know what his actual intention was. So, folks, I missed my opportunity and will just have to settle for a six minute romance. Six minutes is better than nothing, isn’t it?
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