Padua, Italy–I

Posted on February 25, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

We leave Bologna around noon, first grabbing a sandwich from one of the shops at the train station. Arriving in Padua, we find the tourist office, get our all-important tickets to Scrovegni Chapel (the whole reason we are in Padua) and wend our way to our hotel. We’d changed our hotel at the last minute because the new one promised high-speed internet in our rooms. First lie of the day. We checked in, logged in. Nothing. Then we heard Lies 2-10 on why we couldn’t get internet (famous line: “Ours is working just fine.”). I never knew I was such a lily-livered wimpie internet-addicted tourist until I tried to get online at this hotel. We finally gave up settling in (checking emails from our children is one of our usual tasks), and headed out. Did I mention that it was raining here in Padua, too?

We take the tram and get off at St. Anthony’s Basilica, where we see the above, up from the bus stop. This is one of the big sights in the Catholic world, the place where St. Anthony’s tomb resides and pilgrims come from all over the world to touch, leave mementos of their healings, and pray. No photos are allowed inside, but the gift shop is quite extensive, if you wish to buy a postcard, or twenty.

Here’s a shot of the cloisters, where they do allow photographs, but since the daylight is waning, and the cloud cover was thick, it’s hard to get good photos of this buildings.

They actually had FOUR cloisters; that ought to give you an idea of how big this place is. Here’s the well inside one of them.

Leaving the basilica, I nearly stepped on her face–a chalk painting in the square in front.

We walked up a side street, catching one last glimpse in the twilight.

Dave in front of a salumeria. We’d done some reading about this area of Italy and found out it was known for its food, especially its cured meats. We have nothing like their cured meats in the US, although we do approximate it with salami, mortadella, bologna, and the like. It’s obviously one of those things that you can’t really export very well, and if you did, it would be prohibitive in price.

My turn in front of the shop. We wander up through the side streets, passing all sort of shops selling St. Anthony medals, prayer cards, T-shirts, icons, statues proving that marketing St. Anthony is big business.

One lonely tent is pitched in the center of the Plaza of the Fruit (Piazza della Fruta), selling concoctions. I was fascinated by the fellow in the front of this booth, tossing roasted chestnuts in a large black pan, sparks flying in the air from the fire underneath and the airborne chestnuts falling like clackety autumn leaves back into the pan. There’s a chill tonight; autumn is here in Italy.

We wander through the arcade underneath the old Palazzo Del Raggione, and in one shop we buy some buttons and elastic–elastic so we can affix large trash bags around our legs like galoshes when we next head to Venice, which is having Aqua Alta (high water) episodes. In travel, your mind is lingering on what you’ve seen in the last place, and thinking about what you’ll see in the next.

We knew there was an old old university here in Padua, and we enter one of the courtyards of the buildings. The tours are not when we can tour, so we content ourselves with what we can see of the buildings, and enjoy the energy of the young around us. The students are all around us in the town.

We found our way to a marginal restaurant–more like a cafeteria, and while all the displays looked nice, it was just that– a cafeteria. We walked home through the intermittent rain, tried again to get on the Internet — a joke as it is still not working — then crashed.

We walked into tow the next morning, headed for the plazas and the markets. Padua has a river that runs through it, flanked by multi-colored houses, and sporting a few ducks.

I told Dave that graves in the ground were small potatoes compared to having the Madonna statue on a bridge for your memorial, but then he pointed out to me that there was no place to put the flowers, and wouldn’t you want flowers at your tombstone? I thought to myself: Have you seen our graves? Slanted? On a hillside? All the flowers will roll down the hill.

Perhaps it was the rainy weather than put us in such a grave mood, but we continued on.

So this must be a civic-style heartbreak. You pay tons of money to have your old church fixed up with new plaster and all, and then there’s an earthquake that leaves big cracks in the facade.

Morning newspaper. Something to do with cell phone photos and a vendetta and a sexy announcement. Because we are reading the Guido Brunetti series, we immediately think of our Venetian detective and his wife, reading these newspapers.

We are here at Piazza della Frutta, as so are the vendors. The big building overlooking the plaza is called the Ragionne Palace, but is now empty. We notice that it is mostly vegetables and fruits on this side, we head to the other, to Piazza della Erbe.

We dive in. I’d been moaning to Dave that I hadn’t purchased an Italian purse this trip, so guess what? He found me one. And then a leather tote to go with it. Cheap. The guy said that they were made in a factory just down the road. Near Padua. We joked that perhaps they used Chinese labor to keep the prices so low.

This is the view of the market from above, on the balcony of the Palace. Everything’s a little gray, a little soggy.

Those hairy things in the lower right are chestnuts, still in their covering. Everything in this market was so alluring, in terms of wanting to take it home in a cloth bag to a small apartment and cook up some fabulous feast somewhere.

I fell in love with the little strawberries in the lower left corner, and did buy one of those rosy pears in the upper left. Yes. It was amazing. I’ve noticed that in many dishes we’ve tried thus far, there are fewer ingredients, but they are higher quality. Take the tortellini en brodo that we had that first rainy night in Bologna. Three ingredients: tortellini, broth, cheese. But it was delicious. I’ve since made it since coming home and it’s easy and good, provided you use high quality ingredients.

We can see that the walkway above us in the palace has some pretty ornate decoration and we try to climb the stairs to see it. A bulky man starts motioning with some agitation that we cannot come in, and then he makes a circular motion with the other arm. Go around, we wonder? But we’ve been on the other plaza and didn’t see any entrance. But he is adamant. No one is going up there.

So we leave the area, trying to walk around. We rejoice! Sun! Bliss! Better photographs!

Some sights while “walking around.”

We made our way to Palazzo Bo, which apparently was the “way around,” and its Palazzo Moroni. I kid you not. The architect Andrea Moroni started building this area in 1541, with a courtyard, symmetrical staircases and lots of portico, columns, arched doorways and most importantly: the “way in.”

That’s a statue of Moroni there in the front on the pedestal.

Doorway at the landing of the stairs.

We pay our money, and they let us into this giant hall, with a roof shaped like a ship’s keel–upside down. There used to be frescoes by Giotto here, but first the building burned (then was reconstructed) then a hurricane blew the roof off (which was then reconstructed), but by then the original frescoes were too damaged to be saved. At one end is a giant wooden horse, placed here in the early 1830s, modeled after the Donatello horse at St. Anthony’s. (Which we could not see because it was “in renovation.”) The long display tables in the center were an electronic art exhibit of some kind, but I chuckled when I went in for a closer look and saw this sign:

Computer malfunction. Looks like we weren’t the only ones with no signal to our computers.

The walls were heavily decorated with frescoes, just not by anyone you and I would know.

The bulky guy left, others came in by this door, and we realized that’s where the beautifully decorated portico was.

The bulky guy came back and takes our photo:

He points to my water bottle in my day pack and shakes his hand no, no, no. I’m thinking that no drinks of any kind are allowed in here and now they’re going to cart me off to Tourist Jail. Then he breaks into a big grin and says “Vino! Prosecco!” We laugh, and realize that he is right. If we were Italian, we’d be drinking wine and prosecco. Hey, if we were Italian, we wouldn’t be at the market in the rain, in sneakers, carrying guide books.

One last look as we descend the staircase. We’ve traveled to many of the number one tourist sites in Italy, and are now exploring the second tier of towns and sights. We know that while this palazzo isn’t on the order of the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo’s David, or other sights, we try to enjoy what we see here, find new ways of looking at a small town’s Big Deal.

We don’t want to miss our appointments at Scrovegni Chapel–the whole reason for coming to Padua, but I’m definitely not going to be eating in the place where we ate last night. I’d done some searching on Frommer’s before leaving and they recommended Enoteca, just in between the two plazas on a side street. We’re wet and tired and hungry and hightail it over there. This is the fall/harvest display they have in the courtyard area.

Menu I

Posted on December 22, 2012 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

This area of Italy is known at Emilia-Romagna, also known as Italy’s breadbasket where Parma ham, aged balsamic vinegar and other amazing food is found.

But this is what we got on the way there, the airplane breakfast: hard roll, not-bad omelet and potatoes and iffy fruit. Duly prepared, our first meal in Carpi was a feast of Emilia-Romagnan fame.

It began with a reception with little snacks, and my favorite was the prosciutto wrapped around a grissini–a crispy breadstick.

After the reception, we were sent into the restaurant area where long tables were set with crisp white tablecloths, and set before us was a broccoli mousse in a white sauce, with what looked like chocolate drizzled over it. Chocolate? I take my fork, dip into the dark liquid–it’s vinegar, but rich and almost a sweet rich taste.

This blurry picture is the oil and vinegar that were on our table. This was my first introduction to aged balsamic vinegar and it was a revelation. We had a rich lasagna for the next course, then a knuckle of pork, both of which I only had terrible pictures (nothing worse than terrible food pictures).

This was the breadbasket–a supple cloth-like paper basket filled with chunks of bread–which I used to sop up the delicious vinegar on the bread plate. Our dessert — after 2 hours of eating — was a rich, flourless chocolate cake, with languid marscapone cream. We’d been eating for 2 1/2 hours, talking over the alcohol-enriched voices of those around us. We went upstairs to our room, ate a Tums antacid, then fell into bed.

The morning’s breakfast was a spread of everything breakfasty under the sun, including these golden-orange eggs, sunnyside-up.

I’ve been to a lot of hotels and bed & breakfasts, but this was a vast array of delicious food items.

Croissants of all kinds: plain, chocolate and raisin along with some breakfast cakes. Good thing we don’t eat like this every day!

I don’t think the Italians eat this way for breakfast, either. I imagine they have to have the meats for the Germans, the croissants for the French, and the cold cereals for the Americans. Pretty pathetic that we are the cold cereal people. Maybe we can own the scrambled eggs, too. Or those beautiful sunnyside-up eggs of golden orange.

The tables were set with beige linen, square plates and a tiny potted plant.

These were little shortbread biscuits, two wrapped in cellophane. I snagged a couple for my backpack and it came in handy later on.

When I went out walking in Carpi that day, they had Halloween Cookies for sale–love the molten liquid mouths of the ghosts. This was the day we went out to the Vinegar Farm (see the Carpi post), and came back to a luncheon in the restaurant of salad, grilled endive, a pasta dish with vegetables (like a deli salad), and last night’s leftover flourless chocolate cake along with bite-sized fruit tarts. That night we had a banquet in a local hotel/restaurant.

The first course was a variety of grilled vegetables, and firm polenta cut into bite-sized cubes and browned on all sides. About this point, another group joined us in this banquet hall and the noise level went from noisy to WAY noisy, and the pace of the servers picked up to frantic. Our section of the long banquet table nearly missed the second course of risotto with asparagus. Very creamy, but it was interesting how there was a gritty bite to the risotto–not how we serve it in the states. Salads came next drenched in that luscious balsamic vinegar from the region, but we had to practically do a dance on the table to get salad served to us. I politely held it for the lady next to me, who then whisked it on down the table, and then I had ask firmly to get it back. Please. I needed it, for they came around with platters of dry roasted pork, and the dressing from the salad helped out that bleh entree.

They redeemed themselves a little on the dessert: apple cake with cream anglaise. I could tell things were difficult in the kitchen for my spoon was a demitasse spoon–what we’d use to serve our babies their food. Teensy.

The next morning, was the breakfast spread (see above), but still stuffed from the last two days, I had a streamlined version–very streamlined.

Lunch was our final meal together. They started with a platter of these cured meats, and no I don’t know the names of all of these, but they were light and delicious. I have to assume some of it was salami (in lower right), prosciutto (in upper left). I had that, mostly.

We were served gnocco fritto–little puffy, light-as-air bread pockets. We ate them alongside the meats, but sometimes people open them up, stuff the meats in them and eat them like little sandwiches. If only we had known. . .

They had put red wine vinegar on the tables for lunch, but I convinced a server to bring me the balsamic vinegar, which you see drizzled above. Dave and I each had two platefuls of the above, but then they took away the meats, salad and gnocco fritto. I guessed we were done, but no. . . we had another course coming.

A rolled up pasta filled with a light tomato sauce and cheese, as well as a rich and luscious lasagna. At this point, the clock was running out and we were supposed to be out in the van for our ride to Bologna, so I wolfed down the rolled pasta and left the rest. I kept wondering what they would bring out for dessert, but I was stuck in the van for the next 45 minutes, while we waited for others to arrive, so never found out. Of course, it was at this point, realizing that I’d never have that amazing vinegar again, that I wished I had persevered at the Vinegeria Farm and purchased some. Luckily we were still in the area for another couple of days and I determined to look for some.

In Bologna, we ventured out that rainy night to Da Nello, a place recommended by the hotel and these crates of mushrooms were on the table in the abandoned front “porch” or eating area. I could imagine it full of tourists in the summer, for this was a place with a menu in seven languages–a telltale giveaway that this is a “tourist” restaurant.

Dinner breads on the table.

We shared a salad, which the young woman made by gathering together our lettuce, then reaching up and taking things from the stacked plates on the counter. None of those pesky food-safety gloves for her.

Later on I took a photo of them. The one closest to us is mushrooms, then strawberries, raspberries(?), and regular salad fixings.

A view from above from the other end of the counter. I’m sure she thought we were nuts.

Dave had pasta Bolognese–it looks like tortellini from this (dimly lit) photo.

I had a dish recommended to me by the man at the hotel: Tortellini en Brodo: tortellini in broth. The server sprinkled a little cheese over the top, and it all melted into a delicious warming supper. It was more satisfying than I ever thought.

We went back out into the rainy night. This golden tortellini was hanging inside their menu case. A website I found discussed the origin of this piece of shaped pasta as having come from Bologna, and since I’m posting this around Christmas time I thought the quote on the website was terrific:

Gazzetta di Bologna about 100 years ago said that “Christmas should be celebrated in Christian fashion, that is to say by eating until you burst, drinking until your head spins, and in general loading down the human machine with choice wines and edible of all sorts, varieties and origins. But precede everything with a great dish of tortellini. Without tortellini there can be no Christmas in Bologna.”

Italy 2012, to be continued.

Bologna, Sights and Scenes–final

Posted on November 24, 2012 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

I thought these lights looked like hanging prom dresses.

Waiting for Dave, back in the hotel, I caught up on journaling and thought about the woman I’d sat next to at dinner the last night in Carpi. I’d met her at the vinegaria farm and as we exchanged pleasantries outside, she dropped into the conversation that she was a widow . . . of six months. She’d come back because her husband was prominent in the Collegium Ramazzini and they were doing a memorial for him that night at the final session. I didn’t attend the meeting, but as happenstance would have it, we sat next to each other that night at dinner in the large, noisy banquet hall, filled with not only our group of nearly 100, but also a younger, noisier group. I could hardly hear her when she did converse with me, as she spent most of her time talking to someone she knew beside–and across from–her.

I thought of my sister who has gone through this experience, and from watching her and from a lot of reading for my graduate fiction novel learned that many widows considered the first year after their husband’s death to be the time they felt like they were living in a bizarre world. I felt sad for her–here she was in a foreign country, stuck next to some scientist’s wife at some noisy dinner and with whom probably had neither the inclination nor the energy to carry on a conversation. Although out of politeness, she tried.

Back home, if I met someone like her at church, I would probably know what to say, and we would have the luxury of a long-term relationship to carry us over the rough spots. But when traveling, the rough spots glare a little more, and although she was cordial, she wore her sorrow like a cloak. I sat next to her seatmate the next day at our final lunch in Carpi and found our more about her, but it only confirmed those early impressions. I wish we could have visited in other circumstances, for like my sister, she is a studio artist who has mounted several independent shows. For some reason, either because I was in Italy, or just the crazy conversions of my brain, thinking of the juxtaposition of her husband’s recent death and the art show that he never lived to see, reminded me of that oft-quoted Latin phrase: Ars long, vita brevis. Life is short, art eternal.

The key turns in the lock, pulling me out of my journal–Dave’s back and now my universe can turn in its ordered path once more. Where had he gone? Up into the university area, strolling the streets and taking photos, like the one above, and the pictures below, with fragments of the setting sun painted onto the buildings:

Neptune fountain from the front.

Detail. (Couldn’t resist)

Hand in hand, we head out for a walk together.

These candied fruits were like jewels in the window.

I splurge and buy one of a clementine, a pear, and a couple of others.

I expected them to taste differently, but later, in the hotel room that night we ate a piece of each and while they look so divine, they were just gooey candied fruit, like the fruit in fruitcakes, Dave says. But I don’t regret trying them.

We are amazed by the salumerias that we pass by. Here’s view A (above) and view B (below).

The Bolognians don’t buy regular meats in these shops–they are just for cured meats and some cheeses (in the deli cases below).

We were on the hunt for a vinegar stopper like the ones I’d seen at the vinegaria, for my new bottle of vinegar. One man told us the name of the device was a “tappo salva soccia,” or “top catches drips.” Sounds right to me. We found one in a hardware store.

I wished I could have bought some spiffy sneakers with studs in them, but we figured out (after never seeing a price tag, nor the item in the shops),that these were for display only. Still . . .

When walking in the evening, the window displays show to their best advantage without the glare of the daylight on the glass. Couldn’t decide if this display was in sympathy with the American holiday of Halloween, or the European-Catholic holidays of All Souls Day/All Saints Day. We walked back home to eat dinner near our hotel, and on the way, Dave noticed a purse in the window of a shop. Yes, we bought it. I had kind of given up hope of that kind of a souvenir. I’ve found the best policy is to not to have a pre-determined specific idea of what you want to take home, as you’re likely to be disappointed. I was happily surprised at this outcome. (I love my purse!)

We walked back home by way of another fabric shop he’d seen that afternoon (didn’t buy anything, but admired Dave for his fabric-shop-finding skills), and I had him pose by the shadow of Neptune on his fountain. That’s Dave there, against the wall under Neptune’s knee. We had dinner at a restaurant across the street, Osteria Le Mura, then went home and ended the day.

The next morning at breakfast, we try to figure out what kind of tree this is outside the breakfast room window, guessing at different things and finally wondering if it were a fruit germaine only to the local area. I ask the waiter for more information.

He says it’s a “pursey-man” tree. Pursey-man?

When the lady behind the counter brings out this dish, I understand immediately: persimmon tree. I hadn’t seen them ever as golden pieces of fruit. (And now Dave and I refer to them only as pursey-man fruits. The influence of travel is broadening.)

In talking to some other tourists at breakfast, we find out about a short walk to a lovely church and a viewpoint, so we head out, passing these rows of brilliantly colored trees on our way to San Michele in Bosco (the name of the church).

This is the view of Cathedral St. Petrionous in the center of the city (zoomed in). You saw our shot of the two towers (complete with satellite tower on top) in the previous post. It’s a lovely panorama and a fitting way to remember the city.

We head up the hill to the church.

The insignia, inside the church on one of the chapel gates.

The interior is divided into two parts: an upper and a lower, with this saint guarding the stairway. We tread quietly, as a man is kneeling silently in the first pew.

Around the corner in the sacristy (?), a woman is tending a rack of postcards, in the ubiquitous “gift shop.” We inquire in our best raised-eyebrow-fake-Italian if there is a cloister. The torrent of words in reply didn’t help. I find a postcard and point and then there are smiles and lots of pointing, with her hand going this way, then that way. We pay for a postcard (any one will do) and try to find out where this cloister is.

We walk out the door on the upper left of the church into a long hallway, which used to be part of the church, but is now a hospital. This ancient fresco clock is high up on the wall.

We focus initially on this wonderful ceiling in a play of light and shadow. Then I happen to glance down at my feet.

Dave! It’s a meridian line! I’d seen it in another one of the churches yesterday, but theirs had Plexiglas over it, so we wouldn’t walk on it (it was in that church that didn’t allow photos), and here this was, just laid out in the hallway where anyone could walk on it.

Linea Meridiana.

We try to follow the directions given to us, but realize that we need to get back to catch our train, so leave the cloister for another day. I saw later that it was a unique octagonal garden cloister. Bless the web. And curse it, for showing me what I could not see.

The train we’ve chosen is just like this one: sleek and shiny and looking like a stalled slithering snake, there on the tracks. We’d grabbed a snack for lunch, then found our seats, and enjoyed the hour-long (about) ride to Padua.

Because we were in first class, a woman brought around a little cart with snacks, just like an airplane. Only our flight attendants don’t wear surgical gloves when they pass out the pretzels.

We sat next to a British man who was the registrar for a large university in England, and he said he was pretty worn out by the last round of admissions, so was taking a holiday–first to Rome, then to Venice. We chatted with him on how the system worked in England, and he told us about the change-over from a government-financed education for the students, to one where they paid for it themselves (with government loans). After talking to him for the entire ride, we agreed that he needed a holiday. Academics will find each other wherever they go? We said our good-byes and got off the train in Padua.

Next post: Padua.

Bologna, Sights and Scenes, II

Posted on November 21, 2012 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

For some reason, I am quite enamored of these slat-seat metal chairs in photos and have taken pictures of them in New York, San Francisco and now Bologna, although this is the first time I’ve seen them in orange. This was outside a noted coffee shop where folks stop for a bit of refreshment, but we’re on the move. No stopping allowed.

The old Bologna Town Hall.

And inside, a beautiful ceiling and light.

Across the square I see this stately building. Wait. Is that what I think it is? I zoom in for a closer look.

Yes! A fabric shop. This one carries high-end fabrics meant for suits and expensive dresses, for tailors and dressmakers. I’m in heaven.

I’ll take a half of a meter, please. It’s a gorgeous piece of wool challis, bound for a scarf. Or something.

Later that night when we passed by their window, we snapped a picture of their display. Everything was very close and all sights in the downtown Old Bologna were within in walking distance of each other. So as a result, we saw some things twice, as we looped around. Still, I would love to come here in more temperate weather, when the sun makes every building glow all day long.

Old door. Dave had stepped inside this area to photograph the gate leading into the inner courtyard. He’d become very adept at finding beautiful filigree gates to photograph as the following pictures can testify:

These gates hint at the inner life of these buildings, and Dave said he nearly got hit by a car while trying to get a good angle on a gate. I guess it was opening out by remote control and the car was behind him, but no worries. He’s nimble.

One hallmark of Bologna are their passageways, their covered walkways with elegant arches.

This is near the University of Bologna, where Dave went for his walkaround in the afternoon when we split up. That university is apparently the oldest in the world, according to Wikipedia, and was founded in 1088. As they note: “it was the first to use the term universitas for the corporations of students and masters which came to define the institution.”

The lady who checked us into our hotel gave us some huge number of miles of covered walkways (or porticoes) something like 66,000 kilometers, but we thought that sounded erroneous. I read later that it’s about 40 kilometers, which is still a lot. They did shield us from the rain, but they are not always contiguous, or continuous.

We thought of Chad when we saw this, as he runs a bike shop out of his garage, unofficially, though.

This is a close-up of the top balcony, as I was interested in the woodwork at the top.

Poetry Way. I loved it.

We knew we were on the right track to San Stefano, when this guy poked out his head and yelled, “It’s straight ahead!”

His wife agreed, although she could have been disappointed with my fashion statement of tourist sneakers. I was amazed that there was a whole chorus of heads about them, all along the eaves of this building.

One thing Italians do well, is set up the shot, or angle by which you approach something. The building with the heads is the far one on the left. Behind us is the church.

The points of these walkways converge to the front door, and that door is also framed by side walkways, more colonnaded porticoes.

We head in. (No, that’s not us.)

This is a map of the complex, and the big door is on Church #1-3. Chiesa del Crocifisso. The only info I could find was in Italian, but it is an old-style church, with the #3 room above the #2 Crypt. No photos were allowed in this area (but it might have been no flash–I don’t know).

We walked to the attached church, which is the octagonal Basilica del Sepolcro, where Petrionius, a Bishop from the 5th century (and who built this complex on top of one where a temple to Isis stood) was buried under a large altar (his tomb is just inside the gated door, in the lit area). Or so one guidebook told us. Of course, I am familiar with the name because of the Petronas Charm spell from the Harry Potter novels. Ah, the usefulness of popular culture.

Then into the Basilica dei SS. Vitale e Agricola, a dark church with slices of stone for window panes.

We made our way back to #6–the Courtyard of Pilate. Some say that the large urn was the same one where Pontius Pilate washed his hands of Christ, but that has been disproven. But it was a delightful place, with lots of intricate brickwork in the design of — I’m convinced — thirteenth century quilt block patterns. Then next door to The Cloisters (#8), back through the Church of the Martyrdom (#7), and we never made it into the other church/museum area (#9-12).

But we did enjoy this courtyard and the cloisters. All told, the construction on these series of churches stretched from the 5th century through to the 14th century, a range of styles and decor from austere and bone-chilling, to intricate and intriguing.

Yeah, okay. I love these designs. Who was it in the 8th century who thought of these? Who gave permission for such frivolity on basically a very austere church? I assume that only those who preached and worked there might see this, so was this to balance out the rest?

Looking into the cloister area.

At the top of this small column in this ancient window is a small sculpture of a snail.

This is a fourteenth century sculpture of a rooster, called the Rooster of St. Peter. For obvious reasons (read that section where Peter had denied the Christ three times before the rooster crowed that morning). I had Dave take the photo because it reminded me of several items in my daughter’s kitchen, when roosters were popular decorating items. Even though Dave and I traveled as a couple, in one way or another, we brought along all our children in our hearts and minds, finding things that reminded us of them. They are such a part of our lives that we cannot leave them behind, no matter where we go or what we see.

The Tomb of Somebody Important. The fact that I don’t know the complete and exact history of this particular little chapel (perhaps if I read Italian?), didn’t obscure the fact that I loved the whole scene — the floor, the wavy lines on the tomb, the peeling ochre paint as a stage set.

Back outside, the colors glow in the sun.

We’ve only hit a few of the things on our list, but we MUST stop for lunch. It was like some invisible alarm went off and all of sudden the restaurants were full to overflowing, packed, even. We survey a few, then find our way upstairs to a little place inside Eataly where they serve lunch. We only have to wait 10 minutes for a table and with some relief sit down.

Eataly began in New York City, but they’ve since opened places in Italy. How poetic! But our lunch was delicious and wonderful. After lunch, I wander aimlessly around the store, feeling the pressure of souvenir shopping for the folks at home. I’d contemplated giving it up after the last trip, but old habits die hard. After some discussion about shopping (yes, I need to do some shopping and you’re not helping me), we opt for some individual walking around time. I expect to find relief in being by myself to get some serious buying done (Dave will admit to being shopping-adverse), but as soon as he walks out the door and disappears into the street, I regret our separation.

I follow where I think he’s gone, but I can’t see him. I feel so alone, but figure he could probably use the time away from me more than I from him, so I let it be.

Touristing can be a hard business. The fountain of Neptune, as seen through a passageway.

This is the center of Bologna, the Piazza del Maggiore, which you saw in rain-streaked photos at the beginning of our time here. It’s much more glorious in the day.

I wander in and out of the Basilican of St. Petronio, but since they don’t allow photos, it is misty in my aging memory. The outside was monumental, however unfinished (note the ragged brickwork at the top).

I would have taken photos from the front, from the plaza, but the basilica was draped in reconstruction plastic and it looked like a wide white plastic wall, with cut-outs for doorways.

I went back to Eataly and purchased some balsamic vinegar, an apron and at the tourist office in the Plaza San Maggiore, picked up some more souvenirs. I had purchased a purse when we’d gone to Florence, and so wanted another from this trip to Italy. The lady in the tourist office (“So glad you came to me. I love shopping.”) directed me to one shop in Piazza Cavour, where I found this statue of a musician? professor? Again, if I read Italian, I could help you out with the history and importance, but I can’t. I decided to enjoy it on its artistic merits, surrounded by glowing Bolognian buildings.

I did find out that this is a statue of a famous politician, Camillo Benso, Count of Cavour. Figured. Who’d ever build a statue to a teacher? Or a musician?

The only flaw in my plan to do some serious solo shopping was the fact that most all of the stores close between 1 and 3:30 p.m. So I didn’t buy a purse, nor many souvenirs, but instead walked around (the new Town Hall, above), bought some chocolate, then headed home to wait for Dave.

It was thoughtful of the electrician to run those wires AROUND these corner statues, wasn’t it?

Next post: What Dave did, and the end of our time in Bologna.

Bologna Sights and Scenes, I

Posted on November 18, 2012 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

First, one last picture from Carpi. This is the meeting room of the Collegium Ramazzini, with its decorated ceilings. Certainly not all Ramazzians come every year. The number of members in the group is capped at 180, because at the time there were 180 Cardinals in the Catholic church and THEY were able to cover the whole earth, so that’s how they decided how many scientists there should be in the collegium.

Through a lovely fluke, the people in the car with us (from Carpi to Bologna) were also going to the same hotel, so the driver dropped us both off.

Since we had just come from a modern, more austere hotel-type lodging, I found this warm creamy yellow interior of this hotel lobby a perfect antidote to the rain outside.Scenes from our hotel. It’s really a conglomerate of about 5 houses, joined by two courtyards and a breakfast room, so it doesn’t feel like a “hotel.” That little “cottage” on the upper left is one of their rooms, but apparently it’s in great demand. While we had stairs to our room, the first building has an elevator.

Our bedroom and bath. I loved the sink with its graceful shape.

These flowers were just outside the breakfast room, near the cottage. Because of the rain, the internet was spotty, so after taking a bit of a break (we still hadn’t recovered totally from jetlag), we decided to get some dinner at a place the front desk recommended, Da Nello, downtown near the main square. See the Menu post for more info (it’s coming, it’s coming!).

We walked out on the rainy streets. Daylight savings time had already come to Italy, so it was dark earlier on the clock. The first picture is right across from our restaurant on a main pedestrian drag. The second is the main plaza, Piazza de Maggiore. We walked home and called it a day, praying that the forecasts for a let-up in the rain were accurate.

After a sumptuous breakfast with homemade coffee cakes, we headed out to the first of a few churches we saw. If you’ve been traveling, sometimes you begin to get church-sights-fatigue, as I did later on in this day. And as an armchair traveler, sometimes it’s easy to feel the same, as seeing it pictures, flat and in 2D is not the same as experiencing the huge spaces, or a stone angel tucked way up high over the altar, or the glint of the sun through a window, breaking through after three days of constant rain bringing soggy tourists some relief.

But first, I loved the idea that these grand cathedrals will always need a fix-it man, hanging around to oil the hinges on massive wooden doors, as he did.

In the center it’s a pristine, and light and airy church, with minimal dark wood.

But it had an occasional dark side chapel, with only the light on the Virgin Mary centerpiece, a dim cast from a side window, and a rose of glowing red votives.

The Murano glass chandeliers were simple and beautiful. Dave and I both took photos of this large “rosette” on the wall, interested in the swirls of rigid cloth and leaning figures, frozen in space.

Every Catholic church has the Stations of the Cross, and theirs were a tableau setting, draped with heavy scarlet damask cloth.

The Magi come to adore the Christ Child: Adorazione.

This checkerboard tomb (?) was in a side chapel. I like that with all this space, this huge and soaring church, they still have a hard time finding space to store things, so tuck them in a side chapel. (Just a guess.)

The organ and the Murano chandeliers. This reminded me a little of the church in Munich that is all in white. Of course, I can remember both of these churches because photos were allowed, although Dave said the fix-it man came and scolded him for taking photos. In many churches we went into there was a sign posted, although it was unclear if it meant no photos. . . or merely no flash.

Around the corner from the altar was this side chapel, a rosette on its ceiling, and if you dropped your 50-cent Euro coin in the turnstile, you were permitted to advance. If only going to heaven was so cheap or easy.

First up, the choir seats, where dignitaries or singers sit with intricately inlaid scenes at their backs, made of different veneered woods.

And then out into the cloisters, with hedged criss-cross rows subdividing the courtyard with a giant X. Sunshine is promised. We can almost feel it.

This almost makes you want to redesign your yard and outdoor patio, doesn’t it?

We were the only tourists in the cloisters.

Backside of the church.

Bell tower.

The sun is out! We are amazed to see this side of the cloisters start to glow like it was lit from within, until we figured out why: it was laid with red carpet. Still, I loved the effect.

Obviously NOT on the red-carpet aisle, but it was still lovely.

An unusual sculpture in one of the hallways on the way out. It reminded us of the sculpture we saw in the courtyard at the Vatican, and which Matthew had on his family blog.

We came full circle back out to the space in front of the church and the sky had darkened up a bit, throwing this statue of Saint Domenic into relief.

Sun again! I sound like a nut, but really, it’s so nice to see things without holding an umbrella over your head.

St. Domenic’s tomb, I believe. Now I’ve really got to redo the backyard.

With the sun out, the colors of Bologna start to come alive, with ochres, reds, golden yellows. It really is a beautiful city.

Here’s the men-door-keyholes, similar to what I saw in Carpi, but these are in much better shape. Love the door handles.

Dave took this one. I stopped to try and photograph the dog, and he was looking right at me, but the windows were all misty, so this is the better shot. Over and over it was reinforced that this was a city, not of tourists, although there were certainly accomodations for us, but a city of working and shopping and normal people.

Here are the two towers, from a shot Dave took later in the day. In the morning, we were coming at these towers from the other side. They have names: Torre Garisenda and Torre degli Asinelli. The shorter one used to be as tall as the one you see looming over the city, but was demed unsafe some years ago because of the leaning, and was lopped off. The taller one can be climbed. It’s something like 60 stories.

This is how we saw them, dissected by power lines.

And the next morning, we saw them this way, having climbed a small mountain to get a view. We laughed to see the radio/cell transmission equipment on the top, certainly not very visible from the ground. A good use of a tall space, I suppose, but fairly incongruous. Okay, back to the streets.

We’re on our way to San Stefano, a collection of seven medieval churches. More coming in the next post.