Traversing Italy sprayed by the sun, anointed with olive oil, and confessed with wine. Part 2 of 3

 

By tradition Roman roads are worthy. The three lane A-1 carriageway up the backbone of Italy is no exception. Its tolls are modest, has on-highway petrol stations, and is a testament to Italian engineering as tunnels and viaducts are plentiful, with a five mile long tunnel between Bologna and Florence.  On a few occasions I got our six speed Fiat Panda up to 150 km/h.  You do the math.  Again, as in urban areas, nearly all of the vehicles are compact.  As we headed north up the carriageway from the Lazio region of Rome through Umbria and into Tuscany we could see ancient fortified towns topping hills above picaresque golden wheat fields and elegant cypress trees.  These towns are the relics of conflict. 

Florence was the center of the Renaissance rebirth from the Dark Ages with crowning achievements in the arts, architecture, science, and culture.  Rome, to the south, was a city of ancient ruins. Northern Italy was prosperous with trade links from the Crusades bringing spices, dyes and silks from the east and wool, wheat and precious metals from the north.  Florence made woolen textiles and its trade routes were conduits of culture and knowledge from distant land. Trade developed surpluses which allowed investment.  A mercantile class arose as tradesmen became wealthy and began to demand luxury goods.

Improvement was not steady.  There were many periods of war, instability, famine, and plague.  The Black Death wiped out a third of Europe’s population.  The Church was unable to provide relief.  But, the resulting labor shortage increased wages and the wealthy had more money to spend on luxury goods fortifying bankers, merchants, and skilled artisans.  When Florence was faced with mercenary war from nearby City-States, civic leaders presented it as a choice between despotic monarchies and a free republic.  Eventually a hard earned peace arrived and the idea of a free republic persisted. The Medici bankers of Florence reestablished trade routes and Renaissance ideals spread to neighboring states of Tuscany, Siena and Lucca.  The Papacy returned to a poor and ruined Rome and engaged famous Tuscan masters to lay the foundation for a Roman Renaissance.  Stability of the Renaissance ended as European states began to invade Italy in the decades long Italian Wars, peasants backlashed over its indulgences, and trades routes dissipated as Vasco Da Gama found a new route to India from Atlantic ports.

We stayed at the Hotel Alessandra in Florence, just around the corner from the Ponte Vecchio, the Piazzale degli Uffizi, and Palazzo Vecchio. Hotels in Italy are on upper floors and retrofitted with tiny lifts with little room for luggage and people.  The staff at Hotel Alessandra were buoyant.  Emily rested on a leather couch, entertained by a puck-like imp in the reception area, as I navigated the Fiat to a garage and hoofed it back.  From there, we walk past Giotto’s Bell Tower and the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Flore (the “Duomo”) on the Piazza del Duomo on route to the Galleria del’ Accademia to see the actual Statue of David.  We passed several fakes on the way there.  We arrived two hours before our ticketed time and waited and waited in 101° heat and humidity.

But my oh my, the wait was worth it.   Once inside we hurry past treasured sculpture and paintings to an enormous white Carraran marble so alive that David appears to move as the assembled multitude carves space for selfies and gaze upward at him, his left hand toting a sling and his left the stone to slay Goliath, under an eight segmented glass domed vestibule.  And all too quick we are off to the museum café for large bottles of cold refreshing water.  Then outside to summon a taxi driven by a woman whose prowess includes uplifting a handful of fingers to rain tawdry utterances upon wayward lambs.  After a long rest at the hotel we make our way to the Ponte Vecchio to peruse the gold and jewelry in its shops.  But, it is Sunday and closed.  Instead, a quartet plays classic rock as the wind sweeps down the Arno River at sunset.  It is lovely.  We dine on the narrow cobblestone lane at Mangifocco Osteria Tartferia.  I am enchanted by our white shirted black slacked Italianesque waitress even when she only remembers half of what I order.  Less is more.  Emily and I agree that Florence is certainly the highlight of our adventure.  The city abounds in lingering contentment.  The varied hues and patterns of its stone buildings, arrayed in pleasing happenstance ways, instill serenity and longing.  Up early the next morning our hotel elves wish us well and we are off to Venice.  And after that to Milan with views of the Dolomites and the Alps along the way.

Milan is now the mercantile center of Italy.  Emily and I were headed to Italy in April of 2020 when Milan was quarantined with the first non-China outbreak of Covid-19.  We deferred.  I realized why the virus spread there first as we walked from our Wyndham resort to the underground Metro and rode in close and constant contact with the multitude to the historic city center to see Sforzesco Castle, the Duomo di Milano, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, the Leonardo da Vinci Statue, and Teatro alla Scala.  All were magnificent.  It would be an injustice not to describe each in detail here, but in the interest of brevity google it.

Maybe it was the Kenya-bought safari shirt I was wearing, but in all these venues Kenyans would approach.  The first offered our picture with his camera in front of the Duomo.  He asked whether I was Kenyan by comparing our arms; mine tan his obsidian. He said he was from Mombasa.  “I have been there,” I replied.  “Jambo, Jambo” was his retort. It is Swahili for hello.  “Jambo, Jambo,” I replied. Nevertheless, I pointed to my Canon EOS Rebel Camera and deferred.   At the Leonardo da Vinci Statue another Kenyan tied red braided twine around Emily’s wrist, cut the loose ends with a finger nail clipper, pronounced it a gift, and stood with an endearing smile in front of us.  I showed that we had no Euros.  He smiled, again offered it as a gift, but would not leave.  Secretively, Emily removed the weaving.  He noticed and moved on to the father and mother of a child.  Finally, a third Kenya approached.   “Jambo, Jambo,” I shout.   “Jambo, Jambo,” he retorts.  He compares arms. “Mombasa”,” I say.  “Yes. Mombasa. Jambo, Jambo,” he replies.  He slaps a nice leather bracelet around Emily’s wrist as a gift.   I find two half Euros in my pocket as payment.  He accepts.  We flee.  Emily keeps the bracelet but comments to me that it is worth just half a Euro.  She is correct, but peace is worth the other half. 

We head back to the Wyndham resort, past the cleaned up mess from a farmer’s market just outside the resort, to our least Italian meal as terrible Beatles tribute band plays at a party next door.   We stay in separate modern American rooms down the hall from each other.  It is a shock not to be in the serenity of Florence, the bustle of Rome, or the allure of Venice.  But, lessons learned.