My Quest to Become Italian: Sabbatical in Italy (1975)
Italy—the land of my dreams. Italy first spoke to me on one brief visit to Rome and Florence over
spring break, 1974, summoning me to spend the long sabbatical winter term of 1975 becoming
Italian. So I returned in March of 75, after studying Italian, and reading everything I could find
about Italy.
It would be my year of living wildly, dangerously, since I was far from home and from my anxious
mother, who monitored me by long distance, steering me along conventional paths. In the 8
years since I left the convent, I had taken cautious and practical steps to make sure my mother
didn’t have anything to worry about, from me at least—I had gotten a PhD, become a tenured
professor, even bought a condo in a good neighborhood, overlooking Lake Michigan. Now that I
had satisfied all her desires, I could satisfy my own desire to become Italian—at least in my
imagination. I would truly cut loose and listen to my inner Italian drummer. I would spread my
wings and fly—to Italy, the land of my dreams—the land of Tuscan villas and Venetian gondolas;
of Dante and Michelangelo; beauty and romance.
I would become the heroine of my own Portrait of a Lady. As Ralph Touchette wanted to
bequeath his fortune to his cousin Isabel Archer so that she could explore Italy and expand to the
limits of her own innate interests and abilities; my small fortune (the slender savings I had
amassed in my years as an assistant professor) would afford me the same opportunities that
Isabel had—the luxury enjoyed by all those rich young men who made their grand tours of Italy in
the 19th century. Unlike Isabel, of course, I had no chaperon and could set my own schedule. I
could walk all over Florence, travel all over Italy and Greece, gaining confidence in my own
powers of judgment of what was best and most beautiful I could set my own schedule, choose my
own course, interact directly, without an intermediary. I didn’t need a Gilbert Osmond to educate
and broaden me. I would discriminate using my own judgment, seeking what was most beautiful
and noble. I may have been from Kansas City, but I had lived in Chicago for 8 years. I was ready
to move into a more sophisticated culture. I trusted my judgment. I felt at home everywhere. In
my eyes, I was a citizen of the world.
It isn’t often that one does something when one is 44 that rewards one when one is 74. In Italy I
kept a daily journal (as I had done in Spain 8 years earlier), and when I returned I put it in a
drawer along with all the souvenirs from that marvelous trip, like a treasure hermetically sealed,
waiting to be opened again. And 30 years later, after I had retired, when I had leisure, I opened it
and the savor engulfed me. I am touching a cross. For 30 years it has hung around my neck. I
have owned many other pieces of jewelry over the years, but somehow this small Byzantine
cross with diamonds and one central ruby has become my one ornament, with the memory
attached to it, of my annus mirabilis.
*********************
Seven years teaching English at Chicago State University and I was at O’Hare airport on March
17, with my boyfriend, waiting to depart on a flight to Luxembourg on Icelandic, the cheap airline
in those days. Bob didn’t want me to go. Why would I want to leave him, he wondered. The
cautious, practical side of my nature wondered too. It was a lot easier to stay in Chicago.
Fortunately, it was too late. I had to go. I had everything all planned. I had looked forward to this
for so long I had made a detailed itinerary showing where I’d be every day and given it to my
family and friends along with American Express addresses where I would look for mail. I’d said
goodbye to everyone. It was too late to back out. “It’s never too late.” But it was too late. I had
to go. I had to keep my date with Italy.
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While Bob and I tried to find ways to reassure each other that this would be over before we knew
it and I would be back home, we watched an Irish family with 10 children, all dressed in green for
St. Patrick’s Day, proclaiming they had had enough of the U.S. and were emigrating to Ireland.
Here were these good people uprooting their entire lives, and I was anxious about leaving for a
few months.
Lucerne (March 19-21)
Luxembourg, where Icelandic Air landed,
was dirty and noisy and snowing, so I took
the TEE through a snowy France to snowier
Lucerne. I descended from the train and
walked across the street right into the
Walkstätterhof, a quiet hotel across from the
Bahnhof.
I loved Lucerne immediately, with its swans
on the lake and medieval bridges and
buildings. I walked around, entranced by
the medieval towers and onion domes.
Nothing German had appealed to me since
the war, but suddenly I even loved the
German names—St. Peterskapelle,
Hofkirche, Rittersche Palace, Franciscaner Kirche, Seebrucke, Kapellbrucke, Wasserturm. This
seemeed like Vienna—light-hearted and free. I had Rahmschnitzel and beer with apple strudel
for dessert. That first evening I even saw a gay performance of Wienerblut at the Stadttheater.
And suddenly—my anxiety was over. I was glad I had come! I was launched. A couple from
Rhodesia sat next to me in the box seat and suggested I climb Mt. Pilatus. Mt. Pilatus hadn’t
been on my itinerary, but I put it there immediately.
The next morning (March 20) I took Bus #1 from Lucerne to Kriens and got the individual ski
gondola first, then the cablecar up Mt. Pilatus. A skier from Kriens spoke Italian with me—my first
use of Italian! The cablecar ride up is about a half an hour—a near vertical ascent. Everyone
stood up—there weren’t any seats back then. I have a fear of heights and the view out the
window terrified me. A couple in our gondola, seeing my anxiety, reassured me. Finally, we
reached the hotel at the summit, where it says Pilatus=Kulm. I felt like I was standing on the
rooftop of the world.
A sign up there identified the Alps
mountains we could see-- the Eiger, Monch,
and Jungfrau; the Matterhorn (!) Mont
Blanc—names I had read in travel books I
loved, like Richard Halliburton’s Royal Road
to Romance: "I hungered for the romance
of great mountains. From childhood I had
dreamed of climbing Fujiyama and the
Matterhorn, and had planned to charge
Mount Olympus in order to visit the gods
that dwelled there. I wanted to swim the
Hellespont … float down the Nile in a
butterfly boat, make love to a pale Kashmiri
maiden beside the Shalimar, dance to the
castanets of Granada gypsies, commune in
solitude with the moonlit Taj Mahal, hunt
tigers in a Bengal jungle — try everything
once." My hero!
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Atop Mt. Pilatus I had lunch at the hotel, sunbathed on
the deck, watched a helicopter from Bern with a French
general land at the heliport. His excuse was that he
wanted to take a look at the radar installation. Likely
story! We also watched a ski race from Gardena, Italy.
The ride down in the cablecar took only about 10
minutes it seemed—Swoosh! the most thrilling 10
minutes of the trip so far. This was only my third day,
and the trip was already worth it. I had a deep feeling
of satisfaction. I had been to the top of the Alps--Mt.
Pilatus was my mountain. I had seen the Matterhorn, the Jungfrau, Mont Blanc, that the poets
wrote about. Already I had had a peak experience, one I
would always remember. I never needed to climb to the top
of the world again.
Back in Lucerne, I wandered about, crossing the wooden
covered bridge (the Kapellbrucke), feeding the swans. It
was hard to decide which pleasure I would seek next—
perhaps a lake excursion?-- before I went to Italy. For
dinner I had felchen mit zucarat mit kartolfen (fish with sauce
and potatoes).
The next day was cloudy, not a nice day for a lake
excursion. At breakfast I met an American, David Campbell, from Independence, Missouri, who
had been on the Icelandic flight with me and was staying at my hotel. After going to get my hair
done at the National Institute of Coiffure, nearby on the Hirschmatstrasse and lunching on
crackers and cheese, I strolled around the quais, up to the Hofkirche, down the
Schweitzerhofquai, up to the city wall, down into the city, to the Schwanenplatz, where I saw a
magic bus driven by a driver attired in Tyrolean costume. I hopped on for a free ride around
town.
David Campbell showed up, hopped on the bus, and together we toured about, getting off at the
Mublenplatz, crossing another covered
bridge, heading up to Chateau Gutsch,
where I took pictures. We teamed up,
being from the same home town
practically. After dinner, we walked
around the old section, across to the
new, had a beer and finally wound up
at the Cine Modern, where we saw
titled Gewalt und Leidenschaft
(Violence and Passion) with Helmut
Berger. It was a 1974 film by Luchino
Visconti, originally in Italian: Gruppo di
Famiglia in un Interno, dubbed into
English as Conversation Piece. There
was something satisfyingly
international to be sitting at a movie in Switzerland next to someone from my home town watching
an Italian film with a German name, dubbed into English, with French and German subtitles.
Como on Palm Sunday (March 22-23)
David was looking for a plan and I had one. When he heard I was heading south into Italy, he
invited himself along, and we left on the 10:23 a.m. train for Milan, planning to get off in Como.
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The Swiss Alps by train is one of the great train rides, with little picturesque churches nestled in
the valleys.
Adventure awaited us right across the Italian border. At Chiasso, police checking our passports
stopped David, claiming that the ink on his passport was not the same color as on mine. They
assumed we were together so held me as an accomplice. This might have been amusing, but
they kept us there for two hours, until they realized that the David R. Campbell they were looking
for was born on November 11th , not the 13th, and they let us go. We got to Como about 4:30p.m.
and found 2 rooms senza bagno at the Hotel Plinius on Via Garibaldi. At the Piazza Cavour we
had cappuccinos and pastacinni and laughed about the mixup—I was home at last! We bought a
bottle of wine and some cheese to take back to the hotel before dinner to celebrate our
successfully crossing the Alps and arriving in Italy.
Como was not a place I had looked anticipated visiting, but every town in Italy is charming;
besides, it was the beginning of Holy Week, and in Italy, no holy day goes uncelebrated and Palm
Sunday was guaranteed a parade. At ten o’clock the whole town assembled in the square
starting in the church of San Jacobi, circling around the piazza waving their branches and
chanting and then parading into the Duomo for Mass.
I hadn’t
gotten that
cruise of
Lake
Lucerne,
but here
was
another
lake—
Como.
Sunday
afternoon
was ideal
for a cruise
on Lake Como out to Belaggio. The shoreline was thrilling, the plunging hills, dotted with
incredible villas that were more than anyone could dream of. Even to be able to see them was
more than I ever expected in life. Italy was just divine! I took
pictures of as many as I could.
I was heading to Florence, so David tagged along again the
next morning, helpfully carrying my suitcase. (Getting enough
clothes to last from winter thru to summer into one suitcase
had been a challenge, so my case wasn’t light.) We left Como
at 10:50, arriving Milan at 11:30, where we bought lunch, then
took the 1300 express train to Firenze. In our car were two
girls, one Austrian, one Norwegian, off to Florence for the
Easter holidays.
The scenery began to change from the mountains to the flat
plains of the Po Valley, then back to mountains after Bologna,
and finally we arrived in Florence at 4:30. We took a cab to the
inexpensive pensione that the girls had recommended, but it
was full (and dreadful), so we went instead to the more
expensive Berchielli, a lovely hotel on Lungarno Acciaiuoli between the Ponte Santa Trinita and
the Ponte Vecchio. The Berchielli is a wonderful old hotel where we somehow got two single
rooms for 5000 lire each. (Rooms in Como had been 5500 per night. The dollar was worth about
600 lira back then, so 5000 lira was under $9.) I planned on staying longer than David, and was
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told they would be fully booked the week after Easter and I’d need to find another hotel—e.g.
Albergo Porto Rossa. I didn’t want to leave the Berchielli.
Holy Week in Florence (March 24-29)
It was Holy Week, and Florence was already packed for the holidays. How lucky we
were to have found rooms! I had wanted to be in Florence for all the festivities of Easter. David
had never been to Florence, so I was glad to play the cicerone. On Tuesday, Wednesday and
Thursday we spent time in all the places I had first seen on my trip in May 1974—the Duomo, the
Bargello, Palazzo Vecchio, Ponte Vecchio, Pte Sta Trinita, even my favorite Palazzo Davanzati.
The Straw Market, Orsanmichelle, Casa di Dante, the Medici-Riccardi Palace (where I got to see
the Gozzoli frescoes in the chapel). The Medici Chapel was alas closed. I went to Mass at the
Duomo while Dave climbed the tower. Everywhere I took pictures. We took a bus to Fiesole,
toured the Teatro Romano, then took the bus back and photographed the Duomo, Palazzo
Vecchio, Santa Croce, the Pazzi Chapel and Refectory. We spent one whole day at the
Accademia looking at the Michaelangelo sculptures, and at the nearby Convento San Marco to
see the Fra Angelicos, then to the Uffizi. We took Bus #13 to the Piazzale Michelangelo to
photograph the view of Florence. I just loved walking the narrow winding medieval streets,
imagining myself back in the time of Dante.
After visiting all the art that had three, two or even one star in the Michelin green guide,
what was left but to get down to the real business of Florence—shopping. David was heading to
Rome and wanted to take his mother a present, so that started us looking—at copper wares,
bookbinding, jewelry, lace, leather goods, silk, embossed trays, and straw items for ideas. He
picked out an embossed tray and a Kleenex box and mailed them from the post office, and then
left for Rome Thursday morning.
Without David, I concentrated on what I was especially interested in—sculpture. At the
Bargello, the Verocchio and Cellini rooms were closed, and I settled for the Donatellos—David,
St. George, John the Baptist, wishing I had brought my drawing materials.
I had noticed that the Italian women were much better dressed than I was. They were all
wearing skirts and nice shoes and bags—not the utilitarian pants suits that I had brought. It was
time I updated my wardrobe if I wanted to be Italian. I needed a skirt and top and shoes with
some style. Ada, my neighbor, had given me money to buy a gold charm on the Ponte Vecchio,
so off I went to shop. I was shocked at the prices. Skirts were $60-$70! I did find a nice pair of
shoes for $25, laying the foundation for my new
Italian wardrobe. After buying a charm for Ada, I
strolled across the Arno and down Via Guicciardini
and there was the Pitti Palace-- my shopping was put
on hold. http://www.mega.it/eng/egui/monu/pitt.htm
The Medicis bought the palace in 1550 and
redesigned the gardens. As it was too late to tour
the museum, I settled for the Boboli Gardens , which
were grand and amazing.
http://www.mega.it/eng/egui/monu/pittbobo.htm
After brushing off a fresh guard who wanted to show
me the affreschi (frescoes)—or rather to brush
against me in the dark—I resumed my shopping,
then, hearing church bells, and seeing it was 6 o’clock, I found that Mass was about to begin at
the Chiesa Sta. Spiritu. It was Holy Thursday, so how fortunate was that!
It was darkish by then, and without the sun, those old stone churches are freezing in late March.
There was an ad for an organ and soprano concert later that evening nearby at San Jacopo
Soprarno at 9:15. I was tempted, even though I knew it would be freezing. And do you know—
5
after eating dinner at a self-service place on the southeast side of the Ponte Vecchio, (I had
vitello, piselli, insalata verde, panini and un quarto litro vino rosa for only 1400 lire, with a view of
the Ponte Vecchio thrown in) and donning another clothes layer back at my conveniently nearby
hotel--I went! The concert was Holy Thursday music (organist, soprano and choir) in the restored
romanesque church of San Jacopo Soprarno. It is only open for concerts and exhibitions.
http://www.firenze-oltrarno.net/english/arte/t-jacop.html.
Good Friday—I visited the Pitti Palace, which had been closed the day before. I loved the Andrea
del Sartos, the Raphaels and Titians and spent two hours going through. Then I walked over to
Sta Croce, looking for something religious to take part in—Stations of the Cross, Mass,
whatever. Nothing, so I went back to shopping--the last refuge of the tired tourist. Sure enough, I
found my skirt for only $35 and wore it out to dinner that evening where I met Bernie from
Pittsburgh, who must have thought I looked charming in my new Italian skirt and shoes, for he not
only paid for my dinner but took me to see L’Inferno di Cristallo (Towering Inferno) in Italian. I
suppose my mother wouldn’t have approved of my having dinner and going to a movie with a
perfect stranger, but I have always been very trusting; I speak to people and like to do things with
others. Besides I was 44, and not afraid of anything.
Holy Saturday-- I was up early packing my winter clothes, which I wanted to get rid of to make
room for the new Italian wardrobe I hoped to buy. I mailed the box to my neighbor. In the grand
plan I had made before coming, (from which I had already widely departed), I was going to make
Florence my base and travel around Tuscany, seeing San Gimignano, Siena, Perugia, Assisi, etc.
on the way down to Rome. Always planning ahead, I checked the buses and trains, especially for
Siena and found there was an express bus.
It was a rainy day, and most of the museums were closed, so I walked around looking at all the
pastecherria or pastry shops with their pascal lambs. The Mass schedule said the Pascal Vigil
Mass was at 11 p.m., so I rested until 8:45, and at dinner ran into a Swiss fellow from my hotel
who was also heading to the duomo. Seeing the Palazzo Vecchio all decorated with torches in
every crevice, we realized something grand was afoot. We entered and found a concert was to
begin at 9 p.m. in the Hall of Hundreds. The Edinburgh School choir was there. They began
with folk songs, then went on to greater things --Beethoven’s 9th Choral section. My Swiss friend
and I snickered. Then when a tuba solo followed, we burst right out laughing. This delightful
program concluded with some Scottish songs,
a Highland fling and bagpipes. We escaped
about 10 and went looking for somewhere to
eat, but most places were closed by then.
Luckily we found one, after which we went to
the Duomo for 11 p.m. Mass, which lasted
until 1:30. After a cognac we were back at the
hotel by 1:30.
During the night I received a call from Muriel
Lippman in the States who said she would be
arriving in Rome at 10:45 a.m. on April 15, on
TWA flight 890. This was a complete shock,
but it would be fun to have a companion for
Rome.
Easter --The Scoppio del Carro (March 30)
Having gotten to bed so late after the Pascal
Vigil, I wasn’t in any rush to get up early on Easter Sunday, and slept in until 9. While I was still
dressing I heard trumpets sounding outside my window. I was on the second floor, facing north,
and looked down onto the small square of SS Apostoli, tucked in behind the Berchielli. There, in
the entrance of the small church of the Holy Apostles, a procession of dignitaries in medieval
6
clothing wearing official insignia were emerging, carrying something, accompanied by an honor
guard carrying medieval banners and trumpets. Ah, the city leaders, I thought. I ran out around
to the church and followed the procession, which led to the Duomo.
The Scoppio del Carro, the “explosion of the cart.” I knew all about that from my Italian reader. It
originated with Pazzino de'Pazzi, a Florentine warrior who was the first man to climb the walls of
Jerusalem in July 1099, during the First Crusade. For this deed he received from his commander
two shards of stone from the Holy Sepulchre, shards which were subsequently used to start an
annual "holy fire" during Holy Week. This ritual fire, was transported through the city as a religious
relic for all to see. By the Middle Ages this "holy flame" had come to be transported in a Carro, a
simple carriage that transported a large candle through town on the 24 June, day of Saint John
the Baptist, patron saint of Florence. Every Easter morning a procession is held in the city of
Florence. Starting at the church of the
SS Apostoli an elaborate cart, which is
called the Brindellone, is pulled by oxen
decorated with flowers. The oxen pull
the cart through the city until it reaches
the Piazza del Duomo. Once the cart
reaches the Piazza the oxen are
unhooked from the cart and a wire is
attached to it. The wire extends from the
cart all the way to altar of the Cathedral
of Santa Maria del Fiore. On the wire in
the Cathedral is a rocket that has the
appearance of a white dove, which is
referred to as the colombina. During the celebration of Easter mass the fuse is lit by a fire that
was created by the very same splinters that Pazzino donated to the city and the dove is sent on
its way to ignite the cart setting off a spectacular explosion. According to popular legend if all
goes well and the cart explodes, it means a very prosperous year for the Florentines.
The procession arrived at the Duomo about 11:20. Stands for seating were erected all around
the Piazza del Duomo. I asked about a seat, and, although someone said they were sold out, I
got a ticket in the second stand,
right in the second row, a
wonderful place from which to see
and take pictures. After the usual
flag shows, at exactly noon, the
dove came shooting out of the
cathedral door right and hit the
cart and began setting off
explosions, starting with the
lowest rungs first. Everyone
cheered, for the year, with that
good omen, would be a
prosperous one. The explosions
moved up and up the tower,
getting louder and louder, until
they reached the top which all began exploding and whirling about. When the last explosion was
finished, small flags shot up from the top like a crown, the spinning stopped. And all that was left
was to lead the oxen out and hitch them back up to the cart and take it away. It was totally
marvelous.
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After that all the explosions and and the thrilling climax, I felt as exhilarated as I had when I stood
on the top of the world in Switzerland and looked out over the Alps—as if some divine blessing
had been showered upon me.
After an afternoon rest, I went out looking at Palazzos—Palazzo Antinor, Palazzo Strozzi,
Palazzo Rucellai—all closed of course, but I could look at them from the outside. The Palazzo
Davanzati was closed due to “mancanza delle personelle.”
I decided too late that I wanted to eat at the Grotto Guelfo but-- too bad--it closed early for Easter.
Finding a restaurant after 3 p.m. on Easter is not easy, but of course, there’s always some place,
if you try hard enough, and I found an inexpensive one where I could get my favorite dishes—veal
scallopini, spaghetti, and wine with a reasonable cover, for a reasonable price.
After that I thought “the only places open now are churches,” so I headed toward the Chiesa del
Carmine to look at the Masaccio’s and found there was a 5:30 p.m. Mass. That’s another
wonderful thing about Italy. I was always running into Masses; I didn’t have to look for them. In
fact, everything seemed to be falling into my lap. My months of planning had gone out the
window but what came in instead was a reality even more delightful.
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Everything was closed on Easter afternoon, so what better to do than stroll and enjoy the
lungarno and the bridges across the Arno. I’m always checking out other places to stay—and
saw several that looked interesting—Pensione Silla. I might need someplace else to stay when
Muriel came, in case the Berchielli was full. That evening I walked my usual route along the Arno
and found that everyone in Florence seemed to be out walking. I got this beautiful shot of the
Arno at sunset.
Back at the hotel that night I added up everything I
had spent and realized that I was getting by on
about $25 a day, including hotels, meals and
cigarettes! Meals were averaging under $3. It’s
amazing to think of that now, when a hotel room in
Florence is about ten times that for one day.
Muriel would be happy to hear that.
Easter Week (March 31-April 3)
I rose Monday at 7:30, determined to get on with
my plan to see more of northern Italy, using
Florence as my base, going to Siena, San Gimignano, Perugia, Bologna and Ravenna, and
leaving my luggage at the Berchielli, which had agreed I could store my things there. With my
usual planning zeal, I went to the train station at Sta Maria Novella but found that Ciat, the Italian
travel bus agency, (out of business now, but vintage brochures are available on eBay) was closed
on the day after Easter. However I
learned that there was a train to Ravenna
leaving at 6:39 a.m. every day.
As long as I was at the church of Sta
Maria Novella, I might as well look through
it thoroughly. The guidebook said it
“was designed by the Florentine humanist
Leon Battista Alberti, one of the most brilliant
men of the Quattrocento. The spacious Gothic
interior is a treasure house of Renaissance art.
The finest works of art are Masaccio's
monumental and sombre fresco of the Trinity
with the Virgin and St John, halfway up the left
aisle, Brunelleschi's Crucifix in the left transept,
which so surprised his friend Donatello when
he first saw it that he dropped the basket of
eggs he was carrying, and Domenico
Ghirlandaio's charming frescoes of the Lives of
St John the Baptist and the Virgin in the
chancel, where the scenes are transposed into
the streets of Florence in the 1480s. Filippino Lippi's frescoes next door, painted a decade later, after the
Medici had been overthrown, are much more anguished. The Chiostro Verde (Green Cloister) adjoining the
church contains Uccello's an extraordinarily powerful fresco of the Deluge, dating from the 1420s, and the
Spanish Chapel, with Andrea da Firenze's depictions of the triumph of the Dominican order.”
A visit to one church in Florence can be worth the price of the entire trip.
Having had my cultural experience for the day, and feeling that I was in the “topping-off” phase of
my Florence experience, I looked ahead to the two weeks before Muriel’s visit. If I left on April 3,
I could see northern Italy before heading south to Rome to meet Muriel. I would go to Ravenna to
see all the mosaics; then to Urbino to see the castle where Castiglione’s Courtier was written;
then to San Marino, the walled state; to Bologna, the university city; then back to Florence to pick
up my luggage, and from Florence to a 3-day stay in Siena including a day at San Gimignano;
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then down to Perugia, and on to Assissi for two days and then arrive in Rome on April 14. I had
the exact days all worked out, but a plan is just a starting place.
Where would Muriel and I stay in Rome? I had heard someone speak of the Pensione Erdarelli,
at 28 Via Due Macellai, Rome, near the Spanish steps, so I asked the concierge to phone and
reserve a single for April 14 and a double for the 15-18, after Muriel arrived. With so much
accomplished for the day, I had a lasagna, chicken and peas at a self-service restaurant and
went back to the hotel to sleep after that heavy lunch. I couldn’t decide where to go after I woke
and headed back to the train station, walking past San Marco, over to San Gallo, up and over to
Via Nazionale, past Piazza della Independenza. CIAT office was still closed. I meandered back
past the straw market to the hotel and had the concierge call Siena for a reservation for April 8, 9,
10. From Siena I could call ahead to Perugia.
Good news awaited me Tuesday morning as I rose to pack to move to another hotel-- the lady at
the Berchielli told me that I could stay on two more nights until I left on Thursday, in a smaller
room. On Tuesday I went back to the train station, still hoping to learn that there was a bus direct
to Ravenna, but found that Europa bus didn’t go there, so I had to settle for the 6:39 a.m. train on
Thursday morning. Worrying as usual, I bought a ticket for the Thursday train, although it was
only Tuesday. (When I arrived at the train station on Thursday, I learned that tickets are only
good for the day they’re purchased. Relax!)
I kept discovering places in Florence I hadn’t visited yet. I headed for the Palazzo Vecchio,
where I visited the Hall of Elements, the balcony, the rooms of Eleanora of Toledo. My right foot
was beginning to bother me, and it was freezing in that cold palace, so I returned to my warm
hotel room and rested my foot, which I had broken the previous year. I wondered how I could
keep going for two months with that right foot.
Fortunately there were things to do while resting my foot. I could read the magazines-- I had
developed a fondness for the magazine Oggi—the Italians favorite magazine. Or--I could always
study the train tables and plan my travel after Ravenna—selecting the best train times to
Bologna. By two I was recovered enough to walk again and, fortified by pizza and a glass of wine
on the Via Calzioioli, I walked over the Ponte Sta Trinita and up the Via Maggio, looking at all the
mansions, especially the one where Bianca Capelli, the mistress and later wife of Francis I lived,
and then on to the Piazza San Felice, to the place where Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived and
wrote and died. I always visit all the places with literary associations, and Florence has many.
Returning to the Berchielli across the Ponte Vecchio, I looked in all the goldsmiths’ shops, looking
for the perfect charm to remember Florence. I didn’t see anything tempting and bought the latest
Oggi and Gente instead. I was also looking for La Sacra Biblia –the Bible in Italian. After dinner
in another self-service place, I enjoyed an evening stroll
along Lungarno Corsini and back along the other side
before retiring. Ah, the luxurious life of reading about new
places, meandering, exploring, practicing Italian, and
sleeping in a cozy hotel.
The next day,
Wednesday, was
to be my Medici
day. In the
morning I went to the Medici Chapel to see the tombs.
Unfortunately It was raining and my shoes got wet—
the only pair of walking shoes I had, and I needed to
keep them dry because that afternoon I was going to
the Medici villas. For 4000 lire (about $7.00) I had
booked a bus tour of the two villas—Petraia and
Castello—in Sesto Fiorentino. (at right: Villa Medicea
10
di Petraia) http://www.gardenvisit.com/ge/villapetraia.htm
Below: Villa Medicea di Castello
The villas were the perfect
expression of how I would want
to live as an Italian. The villas
were based on medieval
castles and had an open inner
courtyard, with first floor dining
room, state room, writing room
and second floor bed rooms,
many reception rooms
overlooking the gardens, as well as a chapel and game room. The Villa Castello had a grotto (dei
animali) as well. Both had extensive gardens.
. I knew that Muriel
would want to see these
villas, as well as I Tatti,
and was happy to hear
from a fellow tourist that
one could reserve a
private tour of I Tatti, the
Bernard Berenson villa,
on Wednesdays, so I
reserved 2 spaces for
April 30, during Muriel’s
visit.
Satisfied that I had
absorbed everything I
could from Florence, I
was off for Ravenna.
Ravenna (April 3-7)
Rising at 5:30, I left at 6:10 a.m. to catch the 6:39 train (Today I can’t even imagine thinking I
could get across town to the train station in 29 minutes). Imagine my surprise when I found that
the ticket I had providently bought ahead of time to avoid having to stand in a line at the train
station had been for Tuesday, not Thursday, and had expired. I had to pay another 2500 for a
new ticket.
Arriving early in Ravenna, I found the Hotel Minverva (Via Maroncelli, 12) was full, but I left my
flight bag there hoping they’d have a cancellation by the time I returned. Off I went to see the
mosaics at the various churches. (Here’s a link to a good map of Ravenna:
http://www.initaly.com/regions/byzant/map.htm.) I had loved mosaics, especially Byzantine
mosaics, from the time when I was young, and had even done several mosaics. Ravenna is the
mother lode of mosaics! It was like taking a walk through our Art History class—for real. (For a
good overall look at Ravenna mosaics, look at
http://www.classicalmosaics.com/photo_album.htm) Here’s another
http://www.cortonagiovani.it/progettididattici/simboli/ravenna1.htm
11
Sant’Apollinare Nuovo
I was dazzled by the procession of virgins following Sts. Agnes and Agatha up one aisle behind
the Magi to offer their gifts to Mary and her new baby, and of martyrs down the other side leading
up to Jesus at the last Judgement. I was enthralled by early Christianity and martyrs, since my
childhood when I saw the body of St. Beatrice at Clyde. I had studied Christian archaeology.
Later I even started writing a book about a Roman martyr called Gaudentia—unfortunately never
finished as many of my projects weren’t.
Take a look at this
website to see more
pictures of the lovely
Byzantine church.
http://www.cortonagiovani.it/progettididattici/simboli/ravenna2.htm.
Taking a break to fortify myself with a cappuccino and sandwich, I went to San Vitale—another
marvelous mosaic-filled ancient church.
San Vitale
12
This was most beautiful architecturally, two concentric
octagons, with a cupola, built in the 6th century. There
in one panel was Empress Theodora with her court of
ladies, and in another, Emperor Justinian with his
priests and officials, offering sacrifices to Christ, seated
high up in the presbytery, on a throne.
Right next to San Vitale was the little tomb of Galla Placidia-- daughter of the Emperor
Theodosius I (ruled 379–395), sister of the Western Emperor Flavius Honorius (ruled 393–423),
wife of the Western Emperor Constantius III (ruled 421), and mother of the Western Emperor
Valentinian III (ruled 425–455). She also spent five years forcibly married to the Visigoth Chieftan
Ataulphus, after being captured by him when Rome finally fell in 410. She adorned Ravenna with
a number of churches.
A wonderful website showing the mosaics of Ravenna churches is
http://www.paradoxplace.com/Perspectives/Venice%20&%20N%20Italy/Ravenna/San%20Vitale.
htm
Dante’s Tomb
From there I headed back to
the Chiesa San Francesco
and Dante’s Tomb adjacent
to the cloisters. I had
followed Dante around
Florence (his heart is buried
in Santa Croce) and I
followed him here to
Ravenna, where he died in
exile in 1321.
By this time it was 12:30 and
things were beginning to close. The town seemed so dead that, in
spite of my desire to stay, I had to get out of there. I went to the
Minerva where there still was no room, collected my flight bag and went back to the train station.
A train would leave at 13:35 p.m. for Rimini, so I had a pizza and carafe of wine and for 600 lire
bought a ticket to Rimini, where I arrived at 2:35 p.m. I decided to find a hotel there and use it as
a base for a visit to San Marino and Urbino. I wanted to stay on the water, but although I walked
all the way to Rivabella and along the beach I found nothing open, so I returned by bus to the
train station and stayed at the Hotel Moderno. (It seems every Italian town has a Hotel Moderno
near the train station.)
13
After resting, I went out for dinner of vitello, spinacci and a quarto litro di vino, all for 2100 lire,
including tip. The hotel was only 3500 lire /notte. Rimini was quite a bargain compared to
Florence.
The next morning I found out from the Tourist Info office that buses leave for San Marino every
hour, e.g., 8:10 and 9:35 a.m., but the bus to Urbino goes only at 1:10 p.m., so I decided to go to
Urbino that day, after having my hair done in the morning (I wanted to look chic since I was being
Italian) and to save San Marino for the next day, Saturday. For 2000 + 250 tip I had my hair done
at Josette’s on the main street. After lunch I rested until 1, then went over to the Sita bus stop to
wait and found another woman was going to Urbino, so we sat together and talked.
Urbino
The bus drive to Urbino goes along a beautiful hilltop drive, through little towns like Tavoleta. We
arrived in Urbino about 2:30 p.m., but unfortunately the ducal palace had already closed for the
day. (Those cursed Italian mid-day closings—they still Urbino is now a World Heritage site,
because “during its short cultural preeminence, Urbino attracted some of the most
outstanding humanist scholars and artists of
the Renaissance, who created there an
exceptional urban complex of remarkable
homogeneity, the influence of which carried
far into the rest of Europe. . . Urbino
represents a pinnacle of Renaissance art
and architecture, harmoniously adapted to its
physical site and to its medieval precursor in
an exceptional manner.” It experienced “a
great cultural flowering in the 15th
century, attracting artists and scholars
from all over Italy
and beyond, and
influencing
cultural developments elsewhere in Europe. Owing to its economic and
cultural stagnation from the 16th century onwards, it
has preserved its Renaissance appearance to a
remarkable extent. My attraction to Urbino was
Baltassar Castiglione, whose Il cortegiano (The
Courtier) I had read in college. It was an important
handbook of aristocratic manners during the
Renaissance and described life at the court of the
Duke Ferdinand of Urbino. existed in 2005.)
I was looking for the Renaissance and of course could only gaze at it from
outside the palace—the church of San Francesco next door yielded yet
another baroque church.
Link to Urbino: http://www.comune.urbino.ps.it/infogiovani/photogallery.html
A true Renaissance attraction of Urbino was the home of Raphael on Via
Raffaello. For only 200 lire I could tour the three-story house that reminded
me of El Greco’s house. His first painting “The Marriage of the Madonna” is
on the wall. The room he was born in, the table where he ground his
paints—all there.
My bus companion and I walked all around town. It took about 1 ½ hrs top
get from the palace to the Piazza Roma. After a break for supper, I caught
the 5:50 bus for Pesaro, arriving there about 6:40, in time for the 6:52 train to
Rimini and was back there by 7:20 p.m.
14
(For the ducal palace that we didn’t get to see, follow this link:
http://www.paradoxplace.com/Perspectives/Italian%20Images/Montages/Umbria%20&%20Le%2
0Marche/Urbino%20Palazzo%20Ducale.htm)
San Marino
The next morning at the Hotel Moderno I was up at 7:30, ate 2 brioche and a cappuccino for
breakfast, paid my hotel bill of 6000 lire for the 2 nights, and after
walking around a bit photographing, encountering a group of men
carrying placards demonstrating another sciopero, I took the 9:35 bus
to San Marino. On the bus, I met a woman going to San Marino, so
we sat together and talked—another companion with whom I could
practice my Italian, with French as a backup. The site is
spectacular—a rocky summit rising precipitously on Monte Titano.
We arrived about 10:30 and purchased a ticket “good for all the sights”
for only 250 lire. The first was Palazzo del Governo. There are also
the three Rocche, three
peaks crowned with towers,
linked by a path: the Rocca
Guaiata, and the Torre
Cesta, and the Rocca
Montale. These offer
amazing overlooks. Unfortunately, I left my
indispensable Michelin guidebook, my bible,
somewhere and had to retrace my footsteps, so never
got to the last peak, but did find my guidebook which I
had left at a souvenir stand, where someone had
turned it in. After a beer and panini and some postcard souvenirs, I caught the 1:30 bus back to
Rimini and made it just in time to take the 2:24 train to Bologna (for 1300 lire).
Bologna
I arrived in Bologna at 4 p.m and took a bus to the Piazza
Maggiore, hoping to stay around there but all four places I
checked were filled, and two would only let me have a double
for 6-9000 lire, so I took the bus back to the train station-There are always hotel rooms available around train stations.
Sure enough the Hotel Firenze a 3rd class hotel had a room
on the fourth floor for 4800 a nite. After a rest, I went back to
the Piazza Maggiore, looking for water and fresh oranges.
My simple inexpensive meals never included fruit. I found the
oranges and bought 3 for 330 lire, but couldn’t find any water and saw that I only had 5000 lire
left, so needed to get a check cashed. After going through the Palazzo del Podesta, I returned to
the hotel to get a check cashed. On the way an American, one of the “Children of God” sect from
California, stopped me, asking for money. He told me he loved me, etc. but was too preachy and
effusive to persuade me. (See the link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_God) I told him I
was running out of money myself.
I cashed a travelers’ check at the train station, bought the Bible in Italian (La Sacra Bibbia) and
went back to the hotel to read it. A noisy group of ragazzi & ragazze had moved into the rooms
adjoining mine and were going at it, so I went out to dinner—very delicious, at Dalgino’s—insalata
mista, polle, vino, all for 2700, including coperto. I walked back to the hotel, very tired and tried to
sleep, but the girls next door carried on tutta la notte.
Sunday April 6—Sunday is always a good day to visit public places, like gardens, churches. In
the Piazza Maggiore I met Maria Luisa Caldognetto, who was staying at the Albergo Regina. She
15
was a teacher of 14 year-olds at a middle school in the Appenines. We arranged to meet that
night at 8 at her hotel. Then I
went off looking at all the
starred churches and palaces
in the Michelin Guide—S.
Giacomo (St. James Major-right), St. Stephen’s (left) with
the early Christian churches
nestled into it, especially the
circular Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, then to the Church
of Sts. Vitalis and Agricola (11th century). A courtyard,
with a basin said to be Pilate’s basin, is behind the Holy Sepulchre, which has beautiful exterior
brickwork. Then to the Church of the Trinity—with Romanesque cloisters--all very old
Romanesque (8-11th century) St. Dominic’s (he is buried
in Siena) and its Capella Bentivoglio, the Bevilacqua
Palace, which looks like the Florentine palaces, like the
Medici-Riccardi.
That evening I was disappointed to find that Maria Luisa’s
albergo said she was “fuori.” I left her a note about my
hotel, but she never came over, so I watched a detective
story on TV till 10.
For some good “Postcards from Bologna” check out this
link: http://www.aboutromania.com/bologna17.html
Monday April 7, I paid my hotel bill (9600 lire), left my flight bag at the hotel, took the bus to
Piazza Maggiore for one last look around to see what I had missed, to see if there any fashion
buys. I had felt very unfashionable in Florence, but Bologna was was not so high fashion.
After a lunch of panini and beer, I took the noon train to Florence and arrived about 1:30, and
walked to the Berchielli, where I
was given Room 37, at the old rate
of 5000 lire, although April was now
a different season. Cleaned up and
wearing my skirt instead of the
eternal pants that I had worn during
my flying trip around northern Italy, I
went to the American Express office
where I found three letters
waiting—from Mother, Dad, and
Marie. Dad’s asked if I had been to
San Miniato’s yet, reminding me that I hadn’t, so I took the bus to the
Ponte alle Grazie bridge, from which I walked up to San Miniato’s,
the most beautiful church in Florence. Every inch is decorated.
The sacristy has wonderful frescoes of the life of St. Benedict
(perhaps that’s why Dad liked it—he had briefly been in a
Benedictine seminary). As I was leaving, some Benedictine
monks in white robes came down and began singing the solemn
office of the BVM—a real chant. I stayed to hear it all, then walked
down to Piazzale Michelangelo to the bus, walked to the Ponte
Vecchio and went into a jewelry show where I bought some more gold earrings (10,800 lire, or
$17).
16
After dinner I walked around the streets of Florence as usual, and it was such a marvelous night I
took some pictures, decided not to go back to the hotel, and by accident found a concert at the
Palazzo Vecchio, nella sala dei Duecento. Fa molto freddo, ma sono restate al fine.
After overnighting at the Berchielli in Florence, I was
heading off to Siena the next day. I didn’t know how I
would be getting there but wasn’t worried. Some people
from Canada had just arrived by car through
Switzerland, so I chatted with them till 9:15, when I paid
the bill and headed to the bus depot and found that a
bus left at noon. I had time before it left, so I visited my
favorite church, Sta Trinita and looked at the Ghirlandaio
frescoes there and talked to the sacristan, who showed
me the sacristy, which used to be a chapel, and in which
Strozi is buried, then showed me the tomb of Davanzati,
showed me the crypt where he lit a candle for me when I told him I was an ex-nun. I put 100 lire
in as an offering and said a prayer there—I was very moved.
Siena—April 8-10
Back at the Berchielli, I brought my bags down and sat down, writing cards to my folks and Marie,
waiting. The bus came, taking people to the station and SITA for only 700 lire (better than a cab).
The SITA bus was direct and arrived in Siena about 1. I found another Albergo Moderno, (there’s
always a Hotel Moderno)--a little out of town, just behind the Chiesa di San Francesco. For the
first time I had my own toilet!
I loved arriving in a new town at 1 p.m., just as the siesta was
beginning, settling into my hotel, and walking into the main
piazza of the town and orienting myself, taking the air. I sat
outdoors in the Piazza del Campo, had a quatro stagione pizza
and a small bottle of wine. Some Americans with whom I struck
up a conversation suggested some good restaurants—perhaps I
would never go to them, but I enjoyed hearing about them and
finding them on my map. I could look ahead to several delicious
days here and sat there in the sun poring over my Michelin
guide, planning what I would see. First, to the Duomo,
fortunately duomos are always open. The beautiful white Gothic
cathedral with its subtle black stripes outside and inside is
astonishing. The pavements are inlaid, the baptistery and the font has bronze bas reliefs by
Ghiberti, Donatello and Verocchio. Here’s a link to a good website about Siena:
http://gallery.euroweb.hu/tours/siena/city.html
Siena is a hard town to get used to; it’s so medieval still that you feel like you’re living in the
Middle Ages. There were even statues of wolves around. Then I read that Senus, the
descendent of Remus, one of the mythological founders of Rome,
was supposed to have founded Siena.
17
Clockwise from top: The Town Hall, The Wolf fountain,
St. Catherine of Siena, The Duomo Baptistry, and
Duomo Interior
After dinner in the Da Mugalone restaurant (one of those the American students had suggested),
I headed back to my hotel. I usually have a good sense of direction, but Siena is not an easy
town to navigate—it’s more medieval than any other medieval town I know of, much harder than
Assisi. I can’t even tell north from south. All the little alleys and steps leading down—little
warrens. With the various contradas it has hung onto that medieval character. I got lost. It
wasn’t a place to get lost in, especially after dinner, when it was dark. I noticed that only men
were out walking the streets, arms linked together. April wasn’t tourist season, so they looked at
me as if I didn’t belong there—I should have been home like their wives and daughters doing the
dishes and cleaning my house.
Back at the Albergo Moderno, filled now with busloads of French and German tourists, my room
was freezing. I put on a jacket to keep warm. Siena is higher than Florence--3445 ft. and hence
colder at night. I told the concierge, in my best Italian: “Fa molto freddo; la mia camera non ha
riscaldimento. Le altere camere l’hanno, ma non la mia.” He came up and fixed the heater and
the heat went on.
Tuesday, April 9 was the day I had decided to go on my grand tour of Siena. After a grapefruit
and a shower, I walked to town, had my usual cappuccino and brioche, then followed the
itineraries in the guidebook; otherwise I’d be lost in this confusing town.
#1: Palazzo Pubblico or Town Hall. The frescoes are unbelievably beautiful: Allegories good and
bad government, the Maesta of Simone Martini, the chapel, the life of Alexander III, the print
room.
#2 The Palaces: Piccolomini, Chigi-Zondadari (now a music center), Tolomei, Salimbeni,
Tantucci, Spannocchi.
#3 The Pinacoteca or National Picture Gallery. Here there were zillions of early (12-14th cen.)
Sienese (Byzantine type) paintings, including Duccios. I promised myself that I would spend an
entire day there, and years later I returned to do just that.
Lunch break, during the 1:30-3:30 siesta. Everything was closed, even the Medici Fortress.
#4 St Catherine’s House didn’t open till 3:30, so I went to the Church of San Domenico, where I
saw St. Catherine’s mummified head and the famous painting of her (above). The patron saint of
Italy, she lived from 1347-1380. A third-order Dominican, a mystic who was widely revered in her
own time, she lived like an anchorite in her family home, practiced austerities, received spiritual
visions and the stigmata, experienced spiritual marriage after which she returned to public life and
devoted herself to trying to reform the papacy (Avignon schism) writing hundreds of letters to
popes and kings and private citizens, of which 400 have survived--from her cell near the Church.
Back at her house, I saw her kitchen and hearth, her garden, her favorite room and her cell, as
well as the many paintings of her life. Catherine’s writings include the Dialogues (between God
and the soul), 400 of her letters, and many prayers.
After all that, I was ready to head back to the Campo to relax, but I decided to go to the Museo
del Opere del Duomo where the works by Duccio are. Good idea. The Maesta was Duccio’s
masterpiece—the Virgin enthroned, surrounded by scenes from her life on the front, with the 26
18
scenes from the passion of Christ on
the back. It was originally painted to be
the altarpiece of the Duomo. Duccio
completed it in three years (!), and it
was carried there in a great procession
in 1311. Two centuries later it was
dismantled and moved into the
museum. This is probably my favorite
painting of all time. A kindly guard
explained all the scenes to me. By the
time I returned to my hotel it was 6:15. I
had heard of a piano trio concert later at 9 p.m. at San Agostino, but the walk back in the dark
and confusing streets made me decide against it, so after a dinner of tagliatelle and spinacci with
a ¼ l. vino, I retired. The next day I wanted to go next to San Gimignano and found that a bus left
at 8:35 a.m. and again at 10:30 a.m. from Piazza San Domenico.
San Gimignano
I was up at 7:30 and found it was raining, not an auspicious day for a trip to San Gimignano, but
after a bracing morning cappuccino I decided to go for it. I was on a tight schedule. The padrone
was so kind as to take me to catch the 8:30 bus from San Dominico. The ride was about 1 ½
hours and on the way I met a lovely English woman from Plymouth, Joan Gay, who was staying
at the Bel Sojorno in San Gimignano. We enjoyed a coffee and dolce on the Piazza del Duomo
in San Gimignano, then she showed me around to the Duomo, the Palace and art museum, the
Rocca, then San Agostino’s, which was closed, and as it was very cold, we went back to her
place and had dinner in a lovely restaurant overlooking the valley. After dinner I left her and
returned to San Agostino to see the paintings by Gozzoli of the Life of St. Augustine, one of my
favorite saints. [I had forgotten about this visit in 1975. I remember instead a visit in 1998 when I
took time to go over the entire set of frescoes of Augustine’s life.]
After a walk around the Piazza Cisterna, I headed to the main gate where the bus stop was, and
as it was early, had time to walk around the walls, look at the 17 towers. The bus came about 5
p.m. and cost only 250 lire to Poggibonsi where I changed. We got there about 5:15, but the
Siena bus wasn’t due until 6:15, so I wanted to walk up the Fortress (San Luccessi), but there
was no bus so I passed the time talking to Franco, who bought me a beer and gave me his
address and took mine. The Siena bus (400 lire) was an express and we arrived back in Siena at
7:15, a profitable day.
I found that a bus would leave the next morning for Perugia—my next stop—at 6 a.m. The
concierge at the hotel looked up the info and found a train would leave at 8:10, but I would have
to change trains I had a heavy suitcase and the bus drivers put your suitcases into the storage,
whereas on the trains I had to haul the suitcase aboard by myself, so I opted for the bus, which
ended up to take 4 ½ hours, while the train ride was only 3 hours. The concierge made a pass at
me and I had to fight him off. He wanted to take me to the train station, but I decided to take the
early bus.
Perugia—April 11
After washing my hair and clothes, I went to bed early, but woke up hungry at 1 and ate
pompelmo. Rose at 5 and paid my bill--$30 for three days, including 1 meal, a phone call to
Perugia, a cappuccino and donut. A different concierge gave me a ride to the station and I gave
him 1000 lire. There were no cabs at that time of the morning. I found that I had to change
buses in Chiusi anyway. The total bus ride was 750 lire to Perugia, winding up into the hilltowns
of Umbria. We arrived about 10:30, and I got out and took a cab to La Rosetta, a nice hotel right
on the Corso Vanucci for only 4400 lire. It was just across from the Piazza Italia (where the bus
stopped if I hadn’t gotten off at the first stop in Perugia). There was a strike, so the hotel
restaurant was not open.
19
After checking in and getting settled (one could always get
checked in early in those days) I headed for the Town
Hall (Collegio del Cambio) and next to it, the Palazzo dei
Priori (left) and Umbrian National Art Gallery, all leading to
the Fontana Maggiore (below below left) and Cathedral of
San Lorenzo (below left).
I always love a panoramic view and found one at the
Carducci Gardens. As I was hungry I found a place to eat
right off the Via Priori and ate lunch with a Czech girl I had
talked to in the gallery—Susanna Blottman. I had my
usual favorites: tagliatelli, vitello, spinacci and ½ l. vino
for only 1150 lire—not even $2. Amazing.
I returned to the hotel and rested for a while, then
resumed my tour, walking to the Etruscan arch (below),
then to the 6-8th century circular Church of Sant’Angelo
(beautiful, and came back along the Etruscan walls via
Corso Battisti and Via Maesta to the Piazza 4 Novembre
and then headed west along Via dei Priori to the Oratory
of San Bernardino. When I look at a map today, and
remember how hilly Perugia is, I am amazed at how far I
walked on these explorations, just to see a church.
By this time it was dark, so I walked around a bit and
headed back to my hotel. Susanna, with whom I had
lunch, had said that Sicily was nice and inexpensive and
the people were great, so I thought I might head to Sicily
after Muriel left. Who knows?
I had only been in Perugia one day, yet I had really seen
most of the highlights, but the next day I was heading
toward Assisi, and I still had a few things to see before I
left, so the next morning, I rose at 7, washed and went for
a walk south to view the Marzia Gate and Paolina
Fortress, then down the steps to the Chiesa Herculana
and down the Corso Cavour to the Basilica di S.
Domenico and the Museo Archaeologico. Then I
continued on down along the Borgo XX Giugno to the
Basilica di S. Pietro. I had my daily breakfast of a
cappuccino and brioche along the way, then headed back
to my hotel, paid my bill (4400 lire--$7). I still had time to
go to see the frescoes of Perugino at the Collegio del
Cambio before going to my hotel and collecting my bags
and heading across the street to the Piazza Italia, from which the bus for Assisi would depart at
9:30 a.m.
Clockwise from below left:—Sant’Angelo, Oratorio San Bernardino, Perugino, Chiesa Herculana,
Sant’Angelo.
20
Assisi—April 12-13
Many students were on the bus enlivened the trip to Assisi. The fare from Perugia to Assisi was
only 350 lire (less than a dollar). The drive through the Umbrian plain and up the hill to Assisi
reminded me of what Edith Wharton wrote of driving through Umbria—she said it was like “driving
through the landscape of a missal.”
I had booked a reservation at the Hotel Giotto)-only two blocks up from the Piazza San Francesco,
where the bus stopped, but not knowing any better
and remembering that I had gotten off too soon in
Perugia, I stayed on the bus until the next stop—
Sta. Chiara’s, and had to take a cab back. I loved
the Giotto Hotel www.hotelgiottoassisi.it. It became
my favorite hotel, and I am glad to see that it has
been renovated put back in service, since it was
closed when I was there one time later. Now the
rate is 150 Euros; then Room 14 was only 4400
lire, ($7). From the balcony overlooking the Umbrian plain, you can see the Chiesa San Pietro.
My first visit after checking in was to to Mount Alverno and the
Carceri (St. Francis’s hermitage) and then San Damiano (St.
Clare’s home, the building Francis rebuilt). (7000 lire to cab
driver and 1000 to the Franciscan guide at each place.) (In
2000 I would walk to the hermitage and back.) Returning to
town, I headed for the Basilica of San Francesco—to see the
Giotto frescoes of the life of St. Francis in the upper basilica
21
(right), and then visited the lower basilica, but was so hungry that I had to go and eat—a panino
and birrino. I was still hungry so got an egg on bread and walked up Via San Francesco, into the
Pilgrim’s Oratory (where there is perpetual exposition), then on to the Piazza del Commune,
where the Temple of Minerva and palaces and a fountain adorn the square. Then I went down
and saw the Piazza Piccolino Francesco, which claims to the be the birthplace of Saint Francis,
then on to St. Clare’s church, into her tomb, where I gave 100 lire for a holy card to a veiled Poor
Clare, then went up and saw the crucifix which spoke to St. Francis. Then I walked down the Via
Fontabella to my hotel, had an ice cream bar on the way.
What a beautiful town, I thought, my favorite—even more than Forence. Florence was a mix of
many voices—Dante, the Medicis, even later occupants like E. Barrett Browning, but Assisi
remained above all the fray, enveloped still in peace, dominated by its two saints. Its serene
location above the Umbrian plain contributes to a sort of isolation. It remains forever St.
Francis’s home--quiet and lovely, full of surprises—sunny, smiling and warm. Bellissimo! I could
not get enough of St. Francis.
After resting and reading a little in I Fioretti (The Little Flowers of St. Francis, legends about the
saint), I headed back to the basilica, buying 3 oranges and 2 bananas on the way, and went
carefully through the lower basilica, looking at the Chapel of St. Martin and the Magdalen Chapel
by Giotto and the transepts, especially the one on the right by Giotto of scenes of the Virgin’s life
and then of Christ’s life by Giotto and the 3 virtues and S. Francis in glory above the main altar—
also by Giotto. A choir was singing and their voices echoing in the crypt was haunting. I felt like
I was making a retreat.
Back at the hotel, I rested until 7:30 and then went out to eat at La Buca Ristorante up Via
Fontabella. After that I walked back to the basilica and found a local band was practicing for the
Calendimaggio, the first of May.
The next morning I had breakfast on my balcony, wrote cards to friends, had a cappuccino in the
hotel where I talked to some Canadian ladies, then headed to the Basilica for 10 o’clock Mass.
Multiple baptisms were in progress. After Mass, as everything was closed, I headed up to the
Rocca Maggiore, a fortress above Assisi that had enticed me since I first saw it. I met Saverio,
who accompanied me back down, held my hand and tried hard to seduce me, but I got rid of him.
After lunch I returned to San Francesco and went around back to the old cloister and burying
ground. After a visit to San Pietro, and a sunbath in the piazza out front, I returned to the hotel,
then decided I had to climb to the Rocca Minore to complete my expeditions to the highest spots
in Assisi. I loved these high lonely places with great
views over the town and the plain. Fortunately no one
bothered me there and I returned about 5, checked the
train schedule and found that a train to Rome left at
12:45 and a bus left for the train station every 20
minutes. I then returned to the Rocca Minore to
photograph the sun set behind the Rocca Maggiore,
stopping on the way back for dinner at the Buca San
Francesco.. Tomorrow I was off for Rome. Here is a
link to a good site http://www.bellaumbria.net/Assisi/galleria_fotografica.htm#
The next morning I was up early, bathed, packed and ate on the balcony,
paid my bill of 10,900 lire and took a cab to Santa Chiara where the bus
left from. The bus ride itself was only 100 lire. Checking my bags at the
train station I went off to see the church of the Portiuncula, housing the
chapel of the first Franciscans, and the Capello del Transito, where St.
Francis died, and the Rose Garden where he threw himself on the
thorns, and the old convent (built later) with the cells used by San
Bernardino and St. Charles Borromeo, also the crypt. My guide was a
22
Franciscan in whom I confided that I had left a religious
order. He said he was 40 but his superiors still treat
him like a ragazzo. He said priests were leaving in
Italy too. He helped me to return my key to room 14 to
the Hotel Giotto, which I had walked off with. I took
some pictures of the basilica of San Francesco (you
can only really get a view of the site from below) and
took the 12:43 p.m. train for Rome (2100 lire).
Rome April 14-18
Freedom! Grandeur! Romance! So far everything about my Italian adventure had gone even
better than I hoped. I had left Chicago on a cold March 18 and had been in Italy less than a
month, and by April I felt as if I’d been there a year. I’d been to the top of Mt. Pilatus and seen
the Alps from the top of the world. I’d been over much of northern Italy (saving Venice for
Muriel’s visit)—Como, Florence, Fiesole, Siena, San Gimignano, Ravenna, Urbino, Bologna, San
Marino, Perugia, Assisi, and I was on my way back in Rome, which I had visited the previous
year, when I had promised myself that I would return and spend my sabbatical in Italy.
And now, Muriel was about to arrive. Muriel would join me in Rome and we were going to Do
Italy—Rome, Naples, Assisi, Florence, Venice and back to Rome. We would skip across the
Seven Hills singing Arrivederci Roma! We would visit the Isle of Capri, climb Mt. Vesuvius, tour
the Costa Amalfitano, pay homage to St. Francis, see all the Medici Palaces and all the
Michelangelos and Fra Angelicos, ride in a gondola and skip back to Rome, all in three weeks.
I was in Rome by 3:45 on April 14. I had booked us into the Pensione Erdarelli,
(http://www.romeguide.it/erdarelli/erdarelli.html) on the Via Due Macelli, not far from the Spanish
Steps. Muriel would like it, I hoped, although the room was small and the bath was down the hall.
There was, I would tell her, a balcony, a rare treat. In engaging the room, As the Erdarelli was
(is) on a busy street in Rome, you have to take an elevator (gabinetta) up to the lobby and our
floors. This would fascinate Muriel, who loved quaint European ways. I had made it a point to
explain that we were due donne and needed due letti, per due persone. Most Italian doubles
seemed to mean a letto matrimonio or double bed.
I had gotten a cold by the time I arrived, but couldn’t stop—I needed cash. For that I needed to
cash a check at American Express, the only bank open—those were the days before bancomats,
pick up my mail, buy some fruit and acqua minerale and have a spremuta di arancia. I had mail:
letters from Bob and my parents--all about the big snow storm in the Midwest that spring. I went
back to the hotel to rest and read and fell asleep. At 8:45 p.m., I awoke, hungry. I looked for the
Verdecchi, a restaurant I’d heard of on Via Frattini, but couldn’t find it, so I ate at Da Giggi, Via
Belsiana 94 (apparently famous for its homemade pasta:
http://www.ristorantidiroma.com/giggi_eng.htm) right by the Spanish Steps.
On Muriel’s arrival day, I got up at 7:30, ate at my pensione, caught Bus 78 to the Termini and
another bus to the aereoporto, to meet her 10:45 flight. Muriel was a New Yorker, sophisticated,
having experienced everything when she was growing up in New York. This made her
demanding. She was Jewish but had converted to Catholicism and become a nun. That had not
made her any less demanding. She did not learn, as I did, in the convent, to make do and shut
up. She would complain. Now she was like me, an ex-nun. Fortunately, although I wasn’t
demanding, I was creative and could see the good side of many things that appalled her. I
thought of myself as lucky. She thought I was provincial.
She arrived on time, and after resting, we walked to the Piazza d’Espagna. It was her first visit to
Italy. It was spring. Blooming azaleas lined the Spanish Steps. I wanted everything to be perfect
for her, so that she would not complain. Fortunately, she was entranced. We ate lunch at the
famous Antique Café Greco and walked along Via Condotti , looking in Bulgari’s and other shops,
23
on to the Corso and down to the Piazza del Popolo. To show her an overall view of Rome, we
walked up to the Pincio to look down over the city from there. She was happy.
Her first thought was to go immediately to see the Vatican. She remained very religious, unlike
myself. We caught the 792 bus behind the Piazza del Popolo and went through the immensity of
St. Peter’s. To me, St. Peter’s seems altogether too much—troppo grande. I preferred the early
churches. “Let’s spend tomorrow in the Vatican Museums,” she decided. While we were around
there, she wanted us to check out Hotel Columbus, near the Vatican, the old Cardinal della
Rovere’s palace, but a double with bath was 16300 (about $25). Of course now that amount
seems ridiculously low; a double there now costs between 175 and 350 €. We were paying only
4750 or $7.30 at the Erdarelli.
We took Bus 62 back to the Corso, walked past the Trevi Fontana, then went to a 6 p.m. Mass
around the corner. Fortunately for Muriel, who went to mass every day, there were churches on
every corner and masses morning, noon and night. After resting in our pensione, we took a cab
to Piccolo Mondo (of La Dolce Vita fame, near the Via Veneto) but it was closed, so we ate at the
Ristorante Pepone instead and then took a cab back to our hotel. Someone had recommended
the Scoglio di Frisio Restaurant, where strolling singers of Neopolitan songs were promised.
The next day we spent the morning looking in shops, cashing travelers’ checks, eating, before our
scheduled visit to the Vatican Museums at 1. We stayed there till 4:30, seeing everything—the
ancient and modern sculptures, the Raphael Rooms, the Sistine Chapel, etc., then sitting and
writing cards while we had a cappuccino. We took a bus along the Via Cola di Rienzo, where
good shops were located. Muriel bought an umbrella (it had been raining) and a sweater. Bus 81
got us back to the Piazza del Popula, up Tritone and turned at the Via Due Macelli, where we
disembarked. Muriel went to Mass and I went to my room. So far we were doing okay.
The next day, more city buses and sightseeing—St. Mary Major (crib and mosaics), the Borghese
Chapel, St. Peters in Chains (Michaelangelo’s Moses), interspersed with shopping along the Via
Cavour. After lunch we went into the Forum, to see the arches, temples, Palatine Hill, stadium,
Houses of Augustus and Flavia (wife of Domitian), the Coliseum. We walked to the Pza Venezia,
the Vittorio Emmanuele monument, where there was demonstration. Dinner was at La Cantina.
The next day, more demonstrations, along Due Macelli at 10 a.m., and at the Spanish Steps.
Italians seemed always to be demonstrating against something. Muriel loved to shop, and the
stores along the Via Condotti are the best in the world, so in we went to Gucci’s and Bulgari’s,
where she asked to look at a pair of earrings that were 50 grams of 18K gold--$750. Imagine
what they’d be today. We walked to the Corso, then headed west, to the Pantheon and the the
Pza Navona, where we ate at Tre Scalini and had a tartufo (ice cream with cherry inside and
drenched in chocolate) for dessert.
http://www.10best.com/Rome,Italy/Restaurants/Caf%7Cs/index.html?businessID=22228
From there we walked to the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele and took the 181 bus to the Borghese
Gardens and walked through. I lay down on a park bench, exhausted, while Muriel talked to an
Italian fellow who asked her out. She refused. After we were rested, we walked back to the bus
stop and took the 181 back Via Del Tritone to Due Macello. I picked up my dry cleaning (jacket
and slacks) and we looked in some more stores, at scarves (foulards). I went back to rest at the
hotel while Muriel went to Mass, where she met another fellow. At 8 we went back to La Cantina.
Muriel went out with her friend, Marcello Diaz, and I stayed home and slept.
Naples April 19-22
Next morning, we packed our bags. We were off to Naples. After paying
our bill (only 19000 lire), we stopped at the American Express (no mail),
then looked into some more shops before taking a cab to the Termini,
where we boarded the 12:15 Rapido to Naples, arriving about 2 p.m. A
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hotel tour guide sidetracked us before we left the station, trying to get us to go to a pensione he
recommended, for 7000 lire each. I’m the suspicious type, so I told Muriel to sit on the bags,
while I went to the information desk in the station and made a reservation at the Hotel Riviera for
a double with bath, on the sea. Sure enough, we were right on the Riviera, in a large room with
French doors that opened onto the waterfront. We strolled on the Riviera, had lunch at a trattoria,
Zi Teresa, on the pier, http://www.mytravelguide.com/restaurants/profile-79136305Italy_Naples_Zi_Teresa.html I bought my necessities—water, oranges, grapefruit. We rested
until 10:30 p.m. then went out for dinner to Da Gennaro in the nearby Piazza dei Martyrii.
The next day we planned to visit Capri and Villa San Michele, which I
knew about from having read Axel Mundt’s wonderful book, The Story of
San Michele. We went to Mass at 10, as it was Sunday, then took the
11:10 aliscafi for Capri, about ½ hr. Up we went in the funicular to Capri,
walked around the shops, had lunch then took the minibus up to Anacapri
and went through San Michele, the most beautiful place on earth, with the
best view, and a pergola on the terrace
that is unforgettable. Here’s a little bit
of info on Axel Munthe:
“Axel Munthe, a fashionable Swedish
doctor, came to Capri at the end of the
nineteenth century. He acquired the ruin of
San Michele chapel at near the mountain village of Anacapri, to which
he added surrounding land over a period of years. He renovated the
buildings and stocked them with ancient Roman and Greek antiques.
He even managed to get a red granite Egyptian sphinx up there,
though how this was done is still a mystery. After an eye illness
Munthe retired to a nearby ancient tower, where he wrote The Story
of San Michele, a history of the villa, intermeshed with stories from his own experiences. The book was a
run-away best seller all over the world.” (from the website
http://www.roguery.com/cities/naples/visiting/sanmichele/villa.htm)
What could follow a visit to Capri? The Opera! Muriel was a big opera buff (I became one later),
and insisted on our getting ticket to Un Ballo in Maschera at Teatro San Carlo. What a good idea
that turned out to be! We had orchestra seats and even bought programs. We spent the
intermission in the Grand Hall, where drinks and sandwiches were served. It was so civilized and
elegant. We fit in. Muriel was good for me in this way—she wanted la dolce vita, and I from
having done more traveling, had settled for less than she would. She had standards. It was
occasionally a bone of contention between us. She easily took exception to treatment that she
deemed below what she expected—no matter what she was doing—traveling or working. She
got into trouble in the various jobs she held, until she ended up working as a consultant where
she had only herself to blame if she didn’t receive the best. It was somewhat of a tug between
us—she pulling me up to her level, demanding a higher seat, and I, willing to avoid conflict by
settling for the best seat available. Being in the convent had done wonders for my creativity.
One superior had said I could make green paint out of grass. I could see wonders in the most
ordinary things—I didn’t have to go demanding the best. All the wonderful adventures that had
come to me, the ascent of Mt. Pilatus, the Scoppio del Carro, all the art and all the people I’d
met—these had fallen into my lap while I was sitting in the cheap seats. There are cheap seats
available for the best the world has to offer. This was something I
learned from my brother, Joe Shaughnessy, on my first trip abroad
in 1967. The best seat was within me.
The next day, after Mass, we headed to Mt. Vesuvius. We took a
trolley to Styne and then via Cercium Vesuvianum to Ercolano, and
another bus up to Vesuvio. There was a restaurant with a deck and
view where we ate and watched as a wedding reception was held
25
against the background of Mt. Vesuvius. We took the chair lift up to the top, where we walked
around, and peered into the smoking crater. We ate again, took the bus back to Ercolano and
then headed back to Naples, where we stopped in Pza Vittoria to eat at a ristaurante across from
Da Giovanni’s.
The next day we were to visit the Amalfi Coast. The bust left from the Piazza Municipio for
Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast. We stopped at a cameo factory and
then went on to Pompeii, where we saw the basilica, the forum, the
Casa Fauna and Casa Vestri (large house with pornographic murals
and a lovely peristyle and court), a terme (bath, one room cold, one
warm and one hot). In the antiquities room we saw casts of bodies—
crouching woman, dog, like the 2 men in the baths. From Pompeii
the bus drove over to Salerno and began the drive along the Amalfi
Coast, the absolutely most beautiful drive in the world. As our bus
wound around the many curves, I craned my neck to catch a glimpse
of the many small towns that seemed to tumble down the cliffs into
the sea. Positano, Ravello, Amalfi, Praiano—I wanted to stop in them
all. We had lunch at the Hotel Miramalfi in Amalfi, then drove on to
Positano, then to Colli de S. Pietro and inland to Sorrento, where we
stopped for 20 minutes to look at an inlaid wood factory. We were
back in Naples by 6. I had the concierge call the Hotel Giotto in
Assisi for a room. Room 15 was not libero, but we were promised
another room with a view.
We ate at Da Gennaro again and met Roberto Geist from Rome. He took us to the California
Bar. (Most places were closed because of another scioppero).
Assisi April 23-25
The next morning in Naples, we rose at 8, dressed, ate, paid our bill of 29,470 lire (for 4
nights=6100/nite, not even $5 apiece for our sea view). Muriel had been buying purses and belts
and shoes and needed another valise, so we shopped around and found one, then returned
packed and took a taxi to the train and bought first class tickets to Rome and on to Assisi. From
Naples to Rome we got into a discussion with the whole compartment—a couple, 2 men, a young
girl, the conductor, regarding students, religion, the young, etc. The Italians love to talk. The time
passed quickly and we were in Assisi by 5:30 and checked into the Giotto, Rm. 11, complete with
a terrace overlooking the Umbrian plain and a bath! We were in heaven.
The first stop in Assisi is always the Basilica, and there I ran into Saverio, whom I had met at the
Rocca Maggiore the last time I was in Assisi. Ben tornata! he welcomed me. Walking through
the basilica, we found Muriel, then ran into Saverio’s professor Riccardo. (I wonder now whether
Italian men in general visit their tourist spots regularly or whether it was just Saverio and
Riccardo’s habit. Were they looking to meet touring women like us?) We all went out for a drink
amaro cuore (bitter heart), very good, and ate dinner at La Fontana. I also had a Jaegermeister
liqueur. We met Giorgio Amore there who joined us and since he had a car, where else to drive
than up to La Rocca Maggiore. Giorgio wanted me to go to his house with him, but I wouldn’t. I
agreed to meet him next day at 6:30 p.m..
The next day I had my hair done for my big date with Giorgio, read my copy of Gente, while
Muriel went to Mass. On the way back to the hotel, I bought some fruit and checked on the trains
to Florence, finding that the only direct one didn’t leave until 4:45 p.m. I like to leave in the
morning and arrive around 1 or 2. I went looking for Muriel at San Francesco. Many groups of
pilgrims were there. I walked up the Via San Francesco to the Piazza Communale, where
bleachers were being set up for the Calendimaggio, defined as “una festa popolare che,
ispirandosi alle tradizioni medievali della città di Assisi, celebra ogni anno il ritorno alla primavera
con un gentile tenzone musicale, corale, poetico, di ricostruzioni di ambienti, scene di vita e cortei
26
storici fra le due fazioni di Assisi: la Nobilissima Parte de Sopra e la Magnifica Parte de Sotto.”
Unfortunately, we would not be here then, as Muriel would have to be back in Rome and on her
way home that weekend. Not finding her, I walked down to the Piazza Santa Chiara and into the
church, thinking she might be there. No luck. Down the Via Fontanella I walked, buying 2 panini
and a birrino. I finally met Muriel and we went out to eat, at Buca San Francesco.
Giorgio (nicknamed Peppino) was going to come and take me out for an Italian dinner. He knew
Muriel and I were staying at the Giotto, but hadn’t gotten my last name. How would he find me? I
decided not to make it easy by waiting for him in the lobby, but stayed upstairs, reading I Fioretti
sitting on the balcony. He will have to ask at the front desk for the two American ladies, I
reasoned. I would make sure I knew what he planned to do. In spite of wanting to become
Italian, I didn’t trust Italian men. At 8:30 he called; he was downstairs. Muriel and I went
together; fortunately Giorgio’s friend Hettore was also in the car. At the Piazza Communale
Muriel changed her mind and wanted out. “Giorgio drives too fast,” she complained. Hettore left
too—I don’t know whether they went off together, probably not. Giorgio and I drove to a place
outside Assisi, but it was closed, so he drove on to Perugia, to a place on the Via Mancotti (?) for
dinner—or rather, supper—an omelet, salad and beer. Giorgio became romantic. He wanted to
show me his apartment in Assisi. I agreed. I was charmed: his place was beautiful. He had
everything prepared for a seduction—liquor, music, candlelight, a sofa, but I am afraid of men
who are too insistent. I suddenly remembered I was not an Italian to him, I was an American.
Why was he pursuing an American and not an Italian? Were Italian women hard to get and
Americans easy? He saved face by inviting me to return for the Calendimaggio and stay at his
place, as the hotels were all booked. That bud did not bloom.
Florence
Our trip was going well. Muriel and I were now heading for Florence. It was April 25. What
adventures lay ahead for us? After packing, I walked one last time up to my favorite spot, the
Rocca Maggiore, where as I was enjoying the spectacular view of Assisi, an old man tried to put
his arm around me. I was getting tired of these Italian men in Assisi, so I left and returned, by
way of the Chiesa Nuova. By 11:30 I was back and Muriel was paying the bill—15000 apiece
($25). We took a cab down to the station, checked our bags and went to Santa Maria degli
Angeli. A pilgrimage group from Genova was there. We went through the Portiuncula again, saw
Padre Claudio, who had been so nice to me before, and we gave him our names so he’d pray for
us. We had lunch at the Trattoria Rusticana.
In the tourist information office in Assisi where we had checked on the trains to Florence, Mario
said that we must be the American ladies that he had heard of from Peppino (Giorgio) and
Saverio. Assisi is a small town. I was happy that I hadn’t succumbed to either man’s charms, for
I am sure that everyone in Assisi would have known about it. Who knew anyway what Giorgio
and Saverio had told them about the American ladies? I was glad we were
leaving on the 4:40 p.m. train. What did it matter that it would have helped if
Mario had told us to change trains in Terontola to the express train that would
have saved us an hour. Our “express” train to Florence didn’t arrive in
Florence until 7:55 p.m.
We checked into two singles at the Berchielli for 5000 lire a night—only 600
lire ($1) more than the old winter rate.
The Palazzo Vecchio was all lit up again with flares for the National Liberation holiday. After
dinner we walked to the Duomo, to San Lorenzo and back by way of the Bargello, the Uffizi (una
mostra di fiori) and back to the hotel by 11:30. We noticed students camped all over the steps of
the Duomo, which was filthy. I decided that Florence is too much loved by all the students.
There would be a concert Sunday night at the Palazzo Vecchio, which we would be in town for.
27
The next morning was Saturday, April 26. After breakfast, we
walked to American Express, where I had 3 letters. We
walked along the Via Tornabuoni to the Antinori Palace, then
over to the Duomo and went inside, standing under the great
dome, reading about the Pazzi Conspiracy on April 26, 1478,
when, during the elevation of the host, Lorenzo di Medici
(right) was wounded by the Pazzi, and his brother Juliano and
another were killed. Today was the 497th anniversary of that
event. We could feel the presence of the Medici in that place. From there we went to the Medici
Chapel, where Lorenzo and Juliano are both buried. (We did not go to the Medici villas as I had
reserved for us, because we left for Venice on the 30th.)
After eating lunch and visiting San Miniato (not open), the Gozzoli Chapel, San Marco and
Accademia (both closed), we ended up on the Ponte Vecchio where I bought two charms, one for
Ada and one for me—the Medici coat of arms, with 6 jeweled balls (the Medicis were
pharmacists) on each side, to commemorate my Medici day. (Leonardo depicted the hanging of
Julio’s assassin December 29, 1479 (below)
We had dinner at the Casa di Dante ristorante, near Dante’s house.
http://www.frommers.com/destinations/florence/D52155.html
28
The next three days Muriel and I visited everything we could in Florence that
wasn’t on strike. One day we walked to the Palazzo Vecchio and found all
the taxis in town parked there. Scioppero! The taxis were on strike. Sunday
the Uffizi was free and there was a flower show outside, so that was open
and wonderful. But we couldn’t find a restaurant because the restaurant
workers were on strike. Fortunately the churches were never on strike and
there were many of those to choose from (Chiesa Santo Spiritu was our
favorite for simple devotional feeling, but we also liked S. Maria del Carmine
where the Masaccio’s are, San Lorenzo where the Medici chapel is, Santa
Maria Novella where the frescoes of Ghirlandaio and others are, Santa
Croce where Galileo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli and many other famous
Florentines are buried), and they were always having Mass so Muriel was happy. The musicians
seemed never to be on strike either, and if we stopped by a church in the evening, we might find
an organ concert about to begin. On the 28th, my 44th birthday, we visited Casa Guidi, Elizabeth
Barrett Browning’s house on Via Maggio, the Pitti Palace, the Boboli gardens, Fiesole, and ended
at a concert at the Palazzo Vecchio—Debussy, Sati, Poulenc, Milhoud.
April 29, we each did our own thing in the morning--I went through the
Casa di Dante and bought another skirt-- then we met for lunch at a
restaurant down a few steps into a little hole just off the Ponte Vecchio.
We found the Palatine Gallery at the Pitti Palace still closed! The only
solution must be to live in Florence, like EBB did. We made do with
another visit to our favorite churches—Santa Spiritu and Maria del
Carmine (Masaccio’s Expulsion of Adam and Eve, left), then as this was
our last day in Florence for we were leaving the
next day for Venice. We also decided to visit Santa
Croce (the Giotto frescoes and the sacristy) and
the beautiful Pazzi Chapel of Brunelleschi (right)
next to the cloisters. Casa Buonorati was closed
and we planned to go back the next day. (I completely forgot that we had
a reservation to go to the Medici villas the next day. I must never even
have mentioned it to Muriel, who would have loved it.) After dinner we
learned that all the museums would be on strike the next day, Wednesday
(maybe the Medici villas were included). We decided it was time to leave
for Venice. There were too many strikes in Florence.
Venice
On April 30 we each paid our hotel bill of
31,000 lire ($50) for 5 nites and left Florence.
We were going to Venice on the 10:50 a.m.
train, arriving at 2:10. We took the vaporetto
to a stop in St. Mark’s Square and paid a
faccino to bring our bags to the Concordia
Hotel, a 17th-century Venetian home, it is
“the only hotel in Venice with a view of St.
Mark’s,” http://www.hotelconcordia.com/en/
Rates for a single without bath—8500 lire
($14).
After admiring our view of St. Mark’s out the little
window, we had a fish dist at the Ristorante
Langostino, then sauntered into St. Mark’s
29
Square as if we we habituees of the place, instead of on our first visit.
Inside the basilica, we were absolutely blown away by the blazing splendor of the mosaics. That
evening, we walked around the square blazing with light, flirted with a petty officer Rafaello and
his friend Rosario, who bought us drinks while we listened to music. It was so romantic I wished I
were on my honeymoon.
The next day was Calendimaggio, May 1,
Thursday and we wanted to see the
lagoon islands so took a water taxi to
Murano, saw the glass factory and
museum there, then walked to the #12
stop and went on to Burano with its
painted houses and these two charming
little girls. From there we went on to
Torcello and visited the Romanesque
Church of St. Fosca and the Basilica of
Santa Maria Assunta with its Byzantine
mosaics.
Back at St. Mark’s
again, after
lunch we
climbed to the
loggia del
Cavallo
(where the
horses are)
and saw the
treasury of St.
Mark’s, with
the hand of
St. Mark,
along with
30
relics of Sts. Philip, Matthias, James the Greater, and the fabulous Golden Screen.
Muriel came back from having been at Mass, saying that there was an opera tonite, so we got all
dressed up for the opera and went to the Chiesa S. Fantin opposite the Teatro La Fenice, but
nothing was happening either place, so we ate there at a pizza place in our fine clothes, and
came back at 10:30. I was very happy with the day, but Muriel was disappointed in not having
seen an opera in La Fenice.
The following day we wanted to see the Doges Palace, which we did, including the prisons and
crossed the bridge of sighs. Then Muriel went to Mass and I went to
American Express, but found no mail. An American girl I met there had gone to Greece from
Brindisi by ferry and said not to bother getting a cabin because you can sleep on deck. Muriel
would be leaving that weekend from Rome, and I would be on my own again and was wondering
where to go next. Greece sounded like a good idea.
Muriel was heading toward Milan--especially La Scala, and I wanted to stay on in Venice to see
more paintings. She was a scientist, not an artist, and did not want to waste her time going
through art galleries with me. She left late afternoon on Friday, May 2. We would meet in Rome
on Sunday, May 4, around 8 p.m. at the train station. On the way back, I photographed the
Grand Canal from the vaporetto, and went across to San Giorgio to see the Palladio church,
climbing to the top of and taking pictures from there. Back at San Marco, I had my hair done and
had dinner and went to bed early, listening to the piazza orchestras playing “When the Saints Go
Marchin’ In.” It sounded like people were marching around the square, and I was sorry I had
missed it.
Saturday I wanted to see most of the rest of the paintings I hadn’t seen yet. There was a lot!
After breakfast I took the vaporetto for the Accademia to see the primitives and the Tintorettos
and Titians there. I thought that Tintoretto must have covered more canvas space than any artist
in the world. His Descent from the Cross is below left.
From the Accademia, I took the Vaporetto to the Ca d’Oro--closed, so I walked to the huge
church of SS. John and Paul, where many doges were buried. The powerful Colleoni equestrian
statue by Verrochio is nearby.
After some shopping along the Rialto for Venetian glass pieces as gifts (a candy dish for my
parents) I visited the Scuola di S. Rocco, which has 57 Tintorettos! He worked there for 18
years. I loved the Crucifixion, Annunciation, Christ before Pilate. For a good website of
Tintoretto’s religious paintings, look at http://www.biblepainting.com/tintoretto/
From there I went over to the Church of Mary of the Friars where more doges are buried, along
with Monteverdi. Some Titians, especially the Assumption over the main altar (below), and a
Bellini in the sacristy, which claims to have Christ’s blood in a reliquary!
31
I had gone to everything I could in the Michelin green guide. I still
have it, and see that my red checks are there by everything I visited.
It was evening, so after walking back to the Square along the Rialto,
looking at more glass, but realizing that Venice was a very expensive
town, I stopped in for 7 p.m. Mass in San Marco at the main altar
before the iconostasis. The setting was very dramatic.
Below: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Piazza San Marco, Venice (1881)
I was tired but wanted to go to
the “salon drawing room” to
hear music. I was approached
by one man, then by three men
who wanted to accompany me,
so I got afraid and ran back to
the square, where I sat, ate,
wrote cards, and listened to the
band play Viva Espagna, with
everyone singing and shouting.
It was a fun last evening in
Venice.
Rome
The next morning, I packed and went to ten o’clock mass in the Basilica, which turned out to be a
solemn high mass at the main altar over the body of St. Mark. The choir sang, the celebrants
incensed the congregation, the organ music filled the basilica, the mosaics glittered. It was
thrilling. I paid my bill, checked out and took my bag to the train station, where I bought a ticket to
Rome for about $10. We left at 12:43 and arrived at 8:35. Those European trains are
unbeatable. We arrived in the Tiburtine station and there were no facchino or porters, and of
course no escalators, so I ended up carrying my molto pesante valigi down the stairs, under the
tracks, then up to get to the bus station, to get the #9 bus to the Termini, where I met Muriel.
Hurrah! Pensione Erdarelli at Via Due Macelli, 28, was full, but we got Room #2 at a sister
pensione, Pensione Pierina , Via Due Macelli, 47. That night we went to see the movie Fantozzi,
directed by Luciano Salce, about the accountant Ugo Fantozzi, played by Paolo Villagio.
32
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paolo_Villaggio. The unfortunate Fantozzi’s problems (pratfalls) are
mostly visual, so Muriel and I had no problem with the language.
The next day Muriel wanted to shop, as she was leaving the next day, and she wanted to go to
the Via Veneto, a part of Rome I hadn’t been to but really wasn’t interested in. It was somewhere
my mother would have gone, I knew, and that turned me away. I had a headache and needed to
buy a box and paper, tape and string to send a package home. After that I felt nervous. Muriel
did that to me. At 7:30 she called to tell me to meet her at 9 at a theatre (or opera), but I didn’t
feel like it, so didn’t go and couldn’t get a hold of her to tell her so. She called to say they were
sold out anyway, she came home and had forgiven me and brought me hot tea and toast, for
which I reimbursed her. I slept. Muriel was leaving early the next day.
We rose early on Tuesday, May 6, and Muriel left at 5:45 a.m., but called at 6:30 to say the
airport was on STRIKE! We laughed and back she came. The strike would be over by evening.
I was planning on life after Muriel. I was going to Greece. First I had to mail the two packages I
had prepared. I found a post office and got instructions and planned to take them there later. I
found a hairdresser near the Pantheon where we both had our hair done, then I treated her for
her last meal trattoria. We returned to the hotel and while she rested I checked to find that the
train to Brindisi leaves at 1:48 and arrives at 9:36, and the boat for Greece leaves at 10:30. A
berth cost 25,000 lire ($40) and I needed to make a reservation a day ahead. I wanted to go to
Tivoli and the Castelli Romani, but the villas were also on strike. To get to the Castelli, I needed
to take a bus from San Giovanni Laterani, leaving every half hour. Muriel left again around 3 to
catch a 5:15 p.m. flight that would get her to New York by 8 p.m. time. She was happy with that,
so away she went.
I am glad that my being in Italy on a sabbatical inspired her to come and travel with me, because
she wouldn’t have traveled there by herself, and she loved it. Muriel passed away in 2004 of
cancer. I don’t think she ever went back to Italy. In 1984 she and I traveled to France together,
with her silver poodle Lily Fleur in her flight bag, but that is another story. (Read about Lily Fleur
in Muriel’s tribute to her on her death in 2000:
http://72.14.203.104/search?q=cache:208CKXWBL2QJ:www.petloss.com/2ktribut/ltrib2k.htm+%2
2muriel+lippman%22&hl=en&gl=us&ct=clnk&cd=11&lr=lang_en
33

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