Arrivederci, Italy

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued — final post

Arrivederci means “until we see each other again,” and that finality lingered around us when we woke up early that morning. No high water siren last night, and we wanted one last walk in Venice before braving the airplane trip home later in the day.

It was foggy this morning, too early for the boatloads of tourists. We’ve learned that secret over the years, that the tourists don’t get up much before ten and disappear after dinner, so that you have the run of a town during the night and morning hours.

I think I must have some thirty pictures of this serpent with the umbrella heads; it’s fascinating every time I see it. At night, the umbrellas light up.

Rialto Bridge.

Rialto Bridge with vaparetto. The vaparetto has a large number of people on it–I guess working Venice is up and around, just not the shop owners.

Heading into San Marco square. It’s amazing how quickly we could get there with no one out on the streets. We have one tiny wrinkle in the day’s plans: we have to buy a separate ticket for our vaparetto to the airport, as it’s run by a different company. This was discovered last night, too late to do anything about it, so we figure we’ll walk until 9:00 a.m., head over to the ticket agency, rush back to the hotel and hopefully make the right boat to the airport.

Some tourists have arrived, standing on the high water walkways in San Marco square. The fog makes this place seem other-worldly, mysterious.

I looked past the gondolas, to the vaparetto stop, and poked Dave–“Hey! I think I see the ticket agency.” “It won’t be open.” “Let’s try it anyway.” Lo and behold, an outlier: there was one ticket window and it was open and we were able to buy the tickets. Big Relief. Traveling is just so many moving parts.

We walk back up through San Marco.

Hoping it is faster, we jump onto the vaparetto at Accademia, and enjoy one more ride up the canal. The fog is beginning to break, and we look for Dave’s favorite building.

There are several cross-canal routes, done standing up on a traghetto.

We see the “red” building from last night, and a boat appears to be loading giant loud speakers, or some sort of musical equipment.

Now you know as much as I do.

A foggy shot of Dave’s favorite building, with the golden mosaics on the front.

Our stop at Ca’D’Or comes up and we’re off.

It’s named for this building, which used to be ornate, apparently.

From here, we walk to our hotel, eat one more of those perfect breakfasts, gather our things and head towards the Fond. Nuvo stop, where we caught the vaparetto to Burano yesterday. This morning, though, we join a crowd waiting for the airport water bus. Suitcases get thrown (and I mean, thrown) in the front and passengers go down three steps to sit in the belly of the waterbus. We had the usual chaos at the Venice airport (the usual Italian bureaucracy has prevented the airport from expanding, and there are signs posted everywhere to let you know), then a flight to Frankfurt, then to Dulles, Washington, then LAX. We arrive back to our home around 3 a.m., and even though we both were able to snag rows of seats on the Dulles to LAX leg, and sort of stretch out for some sleep, we are tired.

I could put the usual pithy quote about travel in Italy here, but will spare you. We do have the desire to go to Italy again, but next time, we’ll try to avoid All Saints Weekend, rainy weather, bad pillows (the only flaw in the Venice hotel), and remember to always bring the granola bars.

Arrivederci!

Burano, of Many Colors

Posted on May 7, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

We leave from the Fondamente Nova vaparetto stop, which is on the backside of the main islands, and head straight out past Venice’s cemetery, on an island all its own. First stop is Murano (glass making) with our final destination for the day Burano (lace making).

We join the throngs of other tourists, load up (we race to the back to get an outdoor seat) and head out past the cemetery, on its own island.

We’d first been to Burano in 2009, when on a tour with our friends to Murano, then Burano. But the tour guide was in cahoots with the glass-making people and we spent an inordinate amount of time captive in the glass maker’s shop, and only 20 minutes on Burano. We wanted to reverse that today.

Deliveries–everything’s by boat.

We approach Murano and its “furnaces,” or fornaio. Each building is a different glass maker. Murano also is a series of islands like Venice , albeit a smaller cluster.

We are going on to Burano, a fishing village, or so the story goes. They also make lace here, a dying art, as it’s time-intensive and the best kind is done by hand. We land in Burano, and everyone gets off the boat. Most head straight ahead, but at our first opportunity, we take a left, away from the crowds. When we were here before, we were captivated by the colorful houses–technicolor, brilliantly painted houses. The tour guide that time told us that it was a way for the fishermen to find their way back home in the fog, since there has been fishing there since the 6th century. But now Wikipedia notes that “the colours of the houses follow a specific system originating from the golden age of its development; if someone wishes to paint their home, one must send a request to the government, who will respond by making notice of the certain colours permitted for that lot.”

Whatever the original reason, the houses are like being in another world. This post is mostly just pictures of these houses, as there’s really nothing I know about them. I could tell you someone famous lives here or there (and they probably do), but if I’d known that would it have changed how we interacted with this amazing colorful island? I think not. So, scroll, quickly or slowly, and enjoy the houses of Burano.

Now, doesn’t it make you want to head to Home Depot and repaint your house? We were saved from that urge by the fact that we’d done it last year. Around every corner was a new sight, a new color. We saw the young man on his scooter, and Dave helped two lost Asian tourists who were trying to find their way to the vaparetto. We wanted to get lost, so were relieved not to see crowds.

The acqua alta barriers (flooding of high water) on their doorways were really high, and we found the one below pretty interesting, marking the years the aqua alta was highest.

The fact that we’d arrived during “siesta” probably accounted for the deserted streets, as we could hear the sounds of dishes and people talking inside their houses, but no one was around.

We turned right and here seemed to be a main canal. The reflections of the houses on the water captivated us; please ~~enjoy~~ endure the following similar photos as I couldn’t choose just one.

A young couple walked by and we snagged them for our Christmas card photo. Believe me, I was dying to digitally erase those white dots, but I restrained myself. If I had really thought I would put this on our Christmas card, I might have put on some lipstick or something. Dave always looks good.

We cross over the bridge and down the other side is a woman who is working on making lace by hand. I’m sure this piece will sell for thousands in the shops. We avoided the shops because, after reading Brunetti, we’ve learned that most of the lace goods come from Asia. I would have loved to have taken a completed piece of real Burano lace home with me, but I’ll have to be content with this photo.

What I loved about this photo was the way the washing lines were propped up mid-square with two sticks.

The fabulous Dave.

I think this shrine on Burano was one of my favorites: the blue wall, the tiled Saint Fatima, the white flowers in the green box. Perfect.

I also liked this one–these colors were magnificent. We were really glad it was a bright sunny day, for although we got shots of people’s laundry (including those black undies near the fuse box in the photos above), the sun lit up the houses like they were illuminated from within.

It was now late afternoon, and the Tourist Crankies were setting in because we hadn’t eaten since breakfast and regretfully forgotten our Emergency Granola Bars back in the hotel. We were approaching the main town area and looked at several restaurants but then reconsidered because we wanted to beat the crush back to Venice so we could enjoy our last evening there. We’d had such a lovely time by ourselves photographing the colorful houses, that we decided just to head for Venice. There was a crush at the vaparetto stop, but we were early, so did get a seat on the way home. I found one granola bar in the bottom of my backpack and we shared that, then we both dozed on the way home, awoken when a rogue wave splashed in through the vaparetto windows, drenching the couple next to me. I didn’t get wet at all.

I was able to get a better photograph of the church part of the cemetery this time, the whole building glowing in the setting sun.

Gondola practice?

Then there was this curious sculpture placed out in the lagoon as we neared Venice. The only thing I could find about it (in English) was that it was a representation of a poor fisherman saving Venice through the appearance of celestial visitors. Or something.

Back on Venice, we stopped for a small snack in a local shop, then walked home, passing this (closed) church. Near our hotel is this water spigot/fountain that we mostly see filled with pigeons.

But today there were two boys, filling water balloons.

We refresh, but since we are still hungry, we head out, turning right onto the main drag up through Cannaregio, kind of like we are following their line of red dots (which is direction to Ca’ D’oro vaparetto stop, but in the same direction as we are headed). Strada Nova is crowded, with shops still vending and people still shopping, a real party and lively atmosphere. We stop to buy some chocolates to take back with us and some torrone (but it’s not as good as the one by San Zaccharia).

This was a view down one side canal toward the Grand Canal. We keep going, cross a few more bridges, then wander off to the right, up over two small bridges and see a small restaurant on the canal.

Out front there’s a guy out front in a spiffy suit, hawking to tourists — hawking to people just like us, who are tired and hungry and ready to eat even though it’s not even six o’clock in the evening and a real Venetian wouldn’t be caught dead sitting down to dinner. Of course there was the chalkboard with the requisite three courses, the menu with the six languages. We shrug and say, why not. It was a good choice.

First up, they bring us an aperitivo. No thank you, we said, we don’t drink. Shock. Amazement. Incredulity.

Instead, a plate of some delicious polenta topped with bolognese sauce was brought to our table for a “starter.”

Dave had pasta with cheese, which looked like to me it was leftover spaghetti pressed into a mold, then cut and lightly baked, then broiled (?). I think this is a good idea, especially if grilled vegetables are added to the plate, then a drizzle of vinegar.

My pasta course was spicy spaghetti with vegetables. I had never thought to ramp up the spiciness on spaghetti before, but it was delicious.

We both chose the salmon, again, with grilled vegetables. And the Italian way — the salad at the end of the meal (below).

He tried to offer us an after-dinner drink again, but again, we declined. No dessert? He asked? No, I said. I prefer to have some chocolate.

So they brought us each this delicious treat, on the house.

We really enjoyed talking to the owner, as we were the only ones in the restaurant for most of the meal. He grew up in Venice, but after marrying, moved to Maestre, but still runs the family business. We talked about the aqua alta (he was in early that morning, sweeping out, vacuuming, washing down our tables and chairs), as this was his livelihood. I’d go there again in a heartbeat, as the food was delicious (and the owner spoke English). He said he moved out to Maestre because it was really hard to raise a family in Venice–not even a place to play soccer. We say goodbye, but are not ready to say goodbye to Venice yet, so we hop onto a vaparetto and ride down the Grand Canal.

This is when you know you are really on the Outside, Looking In. It’s when you see a building on the Grand Canal all lit up in exotic red, with boats of the glitterati stepping up onto the private loading dock and entering this building. It looked fabulous to all of us peons on the vaparetto. Even the drivers were pointing at it.

Rialto Bridge

The Fish Market, after dark. The action happens here in the early morning.

Santa Maria della Salute

We get off at San Zaccharia, buy our last wedge of torrone to take home, then walk slowly back to our hotel through the streets, and the happy tourists, and the business-like Venetians, back through the chilled air, Dave and I together in Venice for one last night.

Coming up: one more post before we say good-bye to Italy.

Venice Churches and Sights

Posted on May 5, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

Water overlapping a doorway, across the canal from our hotel

Late in the night, we hear the aqua alta (high water) sirens go off. A website tells us the following:

So, first a siren is used to alert everyone of the high tide alarm.Next, a signal indicates the expected level of high tide – this signal has between 1 and 4 notes.

1 long sound (8 seconds) on the same note = 110cm level of high tide
2 sounds in an upward scale (4 + 8 seconds) = 120cm ” ” ” ”
3 sounds in an upward scale (4+4+8 seconds) = 130cm ” ” ” ”
4 sounds in an upward scale (4+4+4+8 seconds) = 140cm and above

But we are sleepy and tucked in our bed in our perfect hotel, so can’t quite distinguish the sounds. It is interesting, though, to think that all around you the sea is rising, covering sidewalks and plazas and streets.

Breakfast is a smaller array, fitting for a smaller hotel (only five rooms, with one on the canal–no, we didn’t get that one).

The breakfast room is cheery, and the woman who is running the breakfast brings us fresh-fresh-fresh croissants with chocolate, another warm roll and some hot cocoa.

Just outside is that waterlogged door at the top of this post. We enjoyed the picturesque setting for our breakfast. I always love the little “trashcans” that Europeans put on the breakfast tables to hold the trash you might generate (the silver tin).

The cocoa is served in a double-walled glass mug. It was the best of the trip, I’d say.

Lingering effects of the aqua alta in the night

Over breakfast the reality of the high water does change our itinerary for the day, as we’d planned to jet right out to Burano, but read that when Venice has high water, Burano will have it worse. Since we don’t want to borrow the boots from the hotel, we decide to see some churches in the morning.

A high water barrier in a doorway. We saw many of these.

Walking the high water walkways–moveable platforms that criss-cross affected areas.

We step out of our hotel to see this: a cobbled street, still wet from the high water, and lovely vine growing across, bringing some greenery to the brick walled passageway.

Just down from us is this market. When we’d passed by it late in the day, none of this was out, and then *poof* in the morning it all pops out.

We are so happy to see the sun, and enjoy how it lights up the Venetian buildings.

Walking in Venice is always a series of ups, downs, take a right–no, left–through that plaza, up those stairs, down those steps, so even getting out and getting around is an adventure, a lovely adventure.

And while we’re walking, I snapped a few photos of shrines. I noticed that the coin slot for this one had been filled with cement.

I’m a sucker for this rich cornflower blue, no matter how it is used.

The flag of Venice, with its Lion.

Behind me is what’s known as the jewelbox church, as the marble slabs on the outside of the building are in many colors. It’s a perfect little church and when we first came to Italy, we could go in with no charge. Now they will sell you a “church tour” ticket for about 15 euro each ($20 bucks) that lets you in there, plus four other churches that we’d never heard of. We pass. Here’s some photos of the outside. It’s in tight quarters, so hard to get the whole vista.

Must be laundry day. I rather think we saw so much laundry hanging out because of 1) we were in less-touristy venues, and 2) the sun was out so the clothes could get dry.

What we do a lot here: study the map.

We spot the Civil Hospital–Yay! we’re almost there. We’re actually headed to the St. Peter and St. Paul church, which is right next door. From Wikipedia: “The Basilica di San Giovanni e Paolo, known in the Venetian dialect as San Zanipolo, is a church in Venice, northern Italy. One of the largest churches in the city, it has the status of a minor basilica. After the 15th century the funeral services of all of Venice’s doges were held here, and twenty-five doges are buried in the church.” Now you know.

You don’t see much graffiti here in Venice, but here’s some.

The exterior doorway. There was a modest fee, and then we were free to explore the church. It’s cavernous, with many chapels, funerary monuments in the walls, and the sun was streaming in, lighting up the church.

I love this shot of the ceiling that Dave took. He does “landscape” or big picture shots really well. Somewhere along the line, between here and Burano, his camera developed a problem with the sensors and so went out of commission. I remember when we used to travel and had only one camera. Travel is much nicer now that we both have our own, as our photographic interests compliment each other: I like the details and he likes the bigger picture. After Burano, we shared my camera, but only had a day before we left.

A side chapel. The ceilings were wonderfully ornate, but I kept taking pictures of the floors, as they were interesting-to-me interlocking patterns. (I won’t bore you with photos. Okay, maybe one.)

Back to the ceilings. Do you think they built scaffolds and did all the plasterwork and painting while laying on their back, or made it down on the ground and then affixed them to the ceiling? I vote the latter.

Beautiful, subtle colors of the aged glass.

What is this? A layered image of a painting in a chapel and the chapel’s glass door reflecting the stained glass window on the opposite wall. It’s also a sign that the tourist has Church Sights Fatigue and needs to get out and walk around the town.

From the sacred to the utilitarian. This clutch of boats has all kinds: construction, delivery, personal water boats. But we turn left out of the church and head to San Francisco della Vigna, a church I’d read about on a blog I love to read: Venezia Blog. The writer of that blog is living my fantasy, of having a home in Venice. But it’s only that. . . a fantasy, not real. But I wouldn’t mind if for a month or so.

More glowing buildings.

After walking for a few minutes, passing delivery people, a postman and residents, we come down this narrow calle and can see the front doors of the church.

Because Dave’s camera is on the fritz, we didn’t get an overview of this quiet church, done in grays and blue-grays, but here’s one (below) from the web:

This is the first church that Palladio built in Venice, and it reminded me of Santo Spirito in Florence (except for the garish touches of red in the above photo–I don’t remember those when we were there). I made a beeline for the Virgin and Child Enthroned, by Fra Antonio da Negroponte, a painting described as the most beautiful painting in Venice that most tourists never see. I’d agree.

I spent several coins keeping that light going, trying to get a photo of this.

I love the putti swimming in the celestial waters above the Madonna’s head.

But the one the priest wanted us to see was Bellini’s Virgin and Child with Saints. I’m standing on the steps to this side chapel, as the priest was mopping the floor. I thought of how our congregations back home clean our church, but I’d never seen it in a Catholic church. This made me suppose that this was a poorer church, as it didn’t charge admission. That’s one reason I was happy to donate my coins to the light box on the other painting.

Ceiling medallions in nave.

This was the “gift shop,” a side chapel filled with postcards, magazines and newspapers. I bought three postcards of the glorious Madonna. One adorned our refrigerator for several weeks after our trip. The painting is huge, tall, so the postcard didn’t do it justice. Such is life. I find that often when I get home from a trip, with the sights and memories fresh in my mind, all my photographs are fairly disappointing. They are so puny, so lifeless, compared to what I saw. But after a while the two–my memories and my photos–seem to come to a point of balance, of stasis, and I now, several months later, I find they do an adequate representation of our trip.

Just for reference, this church is in Castello (upper right), just over the border from Cannaregio (upper left). Our hotel is in Cannaregio (sited at about where the “r” is in Cannaregio). That notch in Cannaregio on the upper side of the island is approximately where we will catch the vaparetto for our trip to Burano. We’re getting antsy now, and really want to get to Burano, so we retrace our steps to pick up a few things at our hotel. Some of the sights as we quickly walked back:

Looking left out of the front door of the church. Apparently this courtyard stood in for the Police Headquarters in the German television series based on the Guido Brunetti novels.

This little girl made us homesick for our granddaughters.

Next post: Burano.

Venice, at last!

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

Marble Sign next to Convent Door

We’d been reading about the Acqua Alta — high water — that had flooded Venice this year, and seen the photos of tourists wading up to their knees in San Marco plaza, so we decided to stay a while longer in Padua to do some shopping. That would have been a great idea, but it was All Saints Day, November 1st, and most all of the shops were closed.

So we stopped and listened to some street musicians, had a sweet at a fancy cafe, then walked back home. . . in the drizzle, packed up and headed to the train station, where we grabbed some lunch and caught a train. There was some discussion about that, as the train that was supposed to be on our track wasn’t, yet there was one on the track behind us and everyone seemed to be going over there. Of course we can’t understand the announcements over the garbled loud speaker, although we pretend to listen and try to catch something, anything, of what was said. In the end, we boarded the train behind us and hoped to play Dumb Americans if it didn’t work out.

Venice Train Station. Notice the woman leaning over taking a drink? She’s wearing rubber boots that go to her knee. Nearly all the “real” Venetians had some of those on. We queued up for the vaparetto pass (long lines) avoiding the few puddles that were on the pavement, and bought ourselves a 3-day pass.

We caught a vaparetto down the Grand Canal to our stop at Ca’ D’Oro , and then a short-didn’t-get-too-lost walk to our hotel.

Hotel Alla Vite Dorata, Cannaregio, Venice, Italy

Looking out to the small side canal from the breakfast room.

Breakfast room.

We checked in, dropped the bags, and like true web addicts, checked to see if we could get on the internet–PERFECT! Happy, we went out again.

We could see evidence of high water: the elevated walkways, puddles, damp pavement, and the vino guy sweeping out his shop (notice the soggy bottoms of his barrels). Apparently Cannaregio has less high water than San Marco, and in addition, the hotel was up two steps, and we found out later that this was done expressly to cut down on high water problems. We watched people bringing empty bottles to this shop, then taking away filled ones. Maybe that’s one way they get their wine?

We are pretty happy to be here: Venice is familiar and it’s not raining, even a bit of blue sky. This was just down the street from our little five-room hotel.

We walked down the shopping street for a while and found a quilt shop–unbelievable prices, so I didn’t buy any fabric, but it was still fun to see.

We saw a lot of these, and remembered the Guido Brunetti novel where these purse sellers figured prominently into the plot line.

Several street merchants sold these glowing lights; this shot was taken on our return home.

True Venetians. The city is mostly overrun with tourists like ourselves, and those who live and work in Venice are dwindling. There was just enough language that we could communicate with so we understood that they were residents. They obliged me with a photo at our vaparetto stop.

Finally we are here. Finally we were on a boat headed down the Grand Canal. The sun was behind us, making the water dark and lighting up the buildings in front of us, and yes, the Rialto Bridge is still here. Everything is still here, and it feels lovely to be out on the vaparetto taking in the sights. Dave and I can’t stop grinning like the pair of happy tourists that we are.

Rialto Fish, and sometimes, Produce Market.

I’m always in love with the hues and rich burnished colors of the buildings, as well as the interesting shapes of the windows, the tiny patios and big balconies, the rich heritage of Venice. I don’t think you go to Venice to see something new; it’s always about the old, and perhaps the art and the food. But always always it’s about the Grand Canal and the water.

Wouldn’t this little glassed-in room be a great place for a study? Although you might not ever get any work done because of looking out the window constantly.

The wooden span of the Accademia Bridge.

Detail at top of building as we round the corner to see San Marco Square and the Doges Palace (below).

We are headed one stop further away from San Marcos — down to San Zaccharia.

We cannot believe the crush of tourists everywhere. We’ve been several times to this city — from December over the Christmas holidays to June in mid-summer — but we’ve never seen it this bad. We also had a hard time getting rooms in a hotel and we did this four months from departure date. Someone in the paper shop later that night finally explained to us that all the countries that are Catholic have these days off from school and work, so everyone took a weekend holiday. . . to Venice.

We remembered how to get to this church, San Zaccharia, for I wanted to see the Bellini Altarpiece. They’ve improved it with a light (.50 euro) and I gladly contribute as it’s easier to see. My photo was a bit blurry, even with the light, so here’s one from the web:

Across the courtyard, a shop selling soaps.

We walk on, headed to the torrone shop. The best kind ever is purchased here, in Venice, and it doesn’t really keep. I did bring some home in my suitcase, and it was all gone within a few weeks after being home.

I love how this gondoliers is pushing off of the post with his foot; many of them use such resources to keep the boats from jostling or hitting each other.

See that golden sign up there that says “Per Rialto?” We learned to follow these toward our destination as we wended our way through the labyrinthian Venetian streets. Yes, we had a map, and sometimes it even helped. Mostly you accept that getting lost is part of the experience.

I love the small shrines tucked into the walls, and I determined I would try to photograph more of them on this trip. Notice the small door with the barely visible coin slot underneath. Coins for alms, for an extra miracle?

We’ve arrived with the thirty billion other tourists at San Marco square at twilight. The pink light made the marble glow.

It is a lovely evening.

We linger in San Marcos plaza, watching the street vendors pitch the toy of the moment: a whirring, spinning light which they launch high up into the air–a flying globe of wonder, which drops back down to the plaza, sometimes where it was supposed to. The bells begin to chime and we are surround by the voices of the crowd, the pealing sounds from the bellower, the excitement that everyone feels for being out in the beautiful twilight, in beautiful Venice.

We start walking toward home, up and over and avoid the tourists. It’s made a little more difficult by the presence of the aqua alta walkways that go right up the middle of the “street,” cutting down the available walking space. And of course, we have to stop for pictures like this one.

Dinner Stop. And yes they had a menu in seven different languages, but we are near San Marco, so expect this.

This was the best part of the meal: a moderately delicious bowl of minestrone. And the waiter spoke English to us and the two other American couples in this place. I’m pretty sure the Italians come much later, if at all, to these touristy spots.

After dinner, more winding ways back to our hotel. I have to say it feels like a big party out here, with lots of people, lights in the shops, action everywhere. We stop at Il Papiro, a favorite paper shop of ours, then push on. We found another shop, Paolo Olbi. That’s Mr. Olbi up there, wrapping up the purchased folios for me to carry home to America. I rather like this shop–better than Il Paprio, I have to say.

A shrine with the face worn off, just under the Rialto Bridge.

Where the gondoliers shop?

The view from Rialto Bridge at night, looking San Marco direction.

When we see this beautifully lit Murano glass chandelier, we recognize where we are–two more turns and we are home to our hotel.

We let ourselves in with our key, and there’s another Murano light in our hallway. We check our emails, get ready for bed, which includes pulling the shutters on the window slightly shut, and head to bed. The only unfortunate thing in this nearly perfect hotel are the pillows: one is a slab of foam about the size of a bread box and the other is longish pillar of foam about 5″ in diameter. There were some more regular-looking pillows but they had fancy pillowcases on them, so I thought they were decorative. It’s when you travel you realize how much you like your own bed, your own pillows, and your own home. But it is grand to be in Venice!

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.

The Traveled Mind

Tag Archives: Italy

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