As the train speeds north through the Tuscan countryside, I’m contemplating my third (and Pauline’s second) return to Florence. Already been there and done the sights. Why return? Does it have anything to do with the boar’s snout?
I don’t know exactly what it is, but Florence is just a great place to be.
But it’s more than that. It has a vibe, a feel to it, a sense of purpose, The heart of the city is compact and very walkable, with only a few residents’ vehicles and taxis to dodge. And the Vespas and cyclists of course, which regard themselves as honorary pedestrians when it comes to traffic lights.
So once you’ve done the major sights, the best thing to do is just chill out and enjoy walking everywhere, ducking into the shops and cafes, visiting the markets (choosing the very best gorgonzola), and seeing an unexpected tower, church, statue or square as you round the next corner.
Three yeas ago we dropped by Palazzo Strozzi for an art exhibition, and as luck would have it, there was another to our taste in progress - Picasso.
It’s impossible to describe the awe I feel when looking at his work, including a number of studies for Guernica. Quite simply the man was a genius.
With the Duomo under our belt from three years ago, it’s time to tackle the Campanile. No longer used as a bell tower, its primary purpose is to entice tourists to part with 10 euros to sweat up 400 steps and see the view. And spectacular it is, particularly for a closeup of the ornately marbled Duomo itself.
Having seen the major attractions, it gives us the opportunity to stumble over the lesser known (and less crowded) attractions, with the Convent of San Marco being a case in point. Now a museum, I’m interested to see the Fra Angelico frescoes. Why? I’m not at all religious, but I’m interested in the power art wielded in historical times, with my interest first whetted when I visited the Duomo three years ago.
Consider a poor, illiterate peasant in the middle ages. He’s tithed so a proportion of his income goes to the church, and he pays more to be baptised, married or buried. The church is not only enormously wealthy, it is the repository of learning and literacy, and promotes a dogma with which no one can argue. It builds grand monuments to itself, and pays to have them decorated with elaborate frescoes reinforcing its message.
The painting of Judgement Day at San Marco is a case in point.
Here the believers are separated from the “sinners”. The believers are elevated to a cherubic heaven, while those who don’t quite make the grade are savaged by pitchforks, run through with spears, devoured by monsters, cannibalise each other and themselves, and are boiled in pots in Hell’s fire. Lovely stuff. What’s a poor peasant coerced to think? And of course if he did have the misfortune to voice a rational thought, it (and he) was quickly snuffed out.
Fortunately we live in more enlightened secular times, where rationality, scientific reason and the experimental method have relegated religious dogma to a historical cultural curiosity. Or have we? Wars are still being fought by people who think the way they worship their non-existent God is better than the way someone else worships their non-existent God, or chooses to worship a rabbit’s foot, or nothing at all. And people are dying because of this?
It perpetuates in religious schools where vulnerable children are indoctrinated with this stuff, and the schools have the gall to put their hands out for taxpayer funding. I see the Destiny Church’s application to run a Charter School has been rejected - at least reason prevails in some instances. How about we teach kids in a secular environment until they’re 18, then they can make an informed choice of how many gods they want to worship, ranging from zero to 330 million if they choose to be Hindu.
Humankind still has a long way to go.
To provide balance in this place of bloody crucifixion portrayals, there are some lighter moments.
Here Christ flattens the devil under a door as he wafts in.
But I digress. Moving on from San Marco, I’m keen to drop in at a motorcycle accessory shop. I’d like to buy a pair of bike boots that are stylish enough to wear to work, and Italy with its design flair should be the place to buy them. I look up the websites of a number of shops. They’re all open from 9 to 7 on a Friday, and Motorama on the eastern side of town is accessible given we want to go on to Piazzale Michelangelo over the river for the views back over Florence.
We arrive at Motorama at 2pm. I should have guessed - this is Italy where customer service counts for nought. Closed between 1pm and 3pm. Nice of them to not bother mentioning it on their website. Buggered if I’m going to hang round for an hour to spend 200 euros with a shop that doesn’t give a rat’s arse about its potential customers. I’ll search harder and buy my boots at home. Barrys Point Rd doesn’t close for an afternoon siesta on working days.
We sweat to the top of the hill and get to Piazzale Michelangelo.
Fantastic views, and I cheer myself up with a street vendor ice cream. Not a good choice, but it’s cold and sweet. Pizza down the hill and proper ice-cream at a Gelato shop past the Ponte Vecchio cheers me up even more.
With the Duomo under our belt from three years ago, it’s time to tackle the Campanile. No longer used as a bell tower, its primary purpose is to entice tourists to part with 10 euros to sweat up 400 steps and see the view. And spectacular it is, particularly for a closeup of the ornately marbled Duomo itself.
Having seen the major attractions, it gives us the opportunity to stumble over the lesser known (and less crowded) attractions, with the Convent of San Marco being a case in point. Now a museum, I’m interested to see the Fra Angelico frescoes. Why? I’m not at all religious, but I’m interested in the power art wielded in historical times, with my interest first whetted when I visited the Duomo three years ago.
Consider a poor, illiterate peasant in the middle ages. He’s tithed so a proportion of his income goes to the church, and he pays more to be baptised, married or buried. The church is not only enormously wealthy, it is the repository of learning and literacy, and promotes a dogma with which no one can argue. It builds grand monuments to itself, and pays to have them decorated with elaborate frescoes reinforcing its message.
The painting of Judgement Day at San Marco is a case in point.
Fortunately we live in more enlightened secular times, where rationality, scientific reason and the experimental method have relegated religious dogma to a historical cultural curiosity. Or have we? Wars are still being fought by people who think the way they worship their non-existent God is better than the way someone else worships their non-existent God, or chooses to worship a rabbit’s foot, or nothing at all. And people are dying because of this?
It perpetuates in religious schools where vulnerable children are indoctrinated with this stuff, and the schools have the gall to put their hands out for taxpayer funding. I see the Destiny Church’s application to run a Charter School has been rejected - at least reason prevails in some instances. How about we teach kids in a secular environment until they’re 18, then they can make an informed choice of how many gods they want to worship, ranging from zero to 330 million if they choose to be Hindu.
Humankind still has a long way to go.
To provide balance in this place of bloody crucifixion portrayals, there are some lighter moments.
But I digress. Moving on from San Marco, I’m keen to drop in at a motorcycle accessory shop. I’d like to buy a pair of bike boots that are stylish enough to wear to work, and Italy with its design flair should be the place to buy them. I look up the websites of a number of shops. They’re all open from 9 to 7 on a Friday, and Motorama on the eastern side of town is accessible given we want to go on to Piazzale Michelangelo over the river for the views back over Florence.
We arrive at Motorama at 2pm. I should have guessed - this is Italy where customer service counts for nought. Closed between 1pm and 3pm. Nice of them to not bother mentioning it on their website. Buggered if I’m going to hang round for an hour to spend 200 euros with a shop that doesn’t give a rat’s arse about its potential customers. I’ll search harder and buy my boots at home. Barrys Point Rd doesn’t close for an afternoon siesta on working days.
We sweat to the top of the hill and get to Piazzale Michelangelo.
Back home via Il Porcellino. I tease Pauline by just pretending, but she won’t have a bar of it and clamps my hand onto the boar’s snout.
Florence is giving me a few more ups and downs this time. I still love the city, but it’s just dropped a peg over the last three years. Perhaps most noticeable is the increase in both the number of beggars and the amount of graffiti, though nowhere near Naples’ level. It seems the whole of Italy is coming under more economic pressure. It’s not a basket-case like Greece, but like Spain and Portugal it’s teetering on the brink. Product design and manufacture is great - just think of Ducati, Aprilia, MV, Cagiva, Moto Guzzi, Vespa, Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini, Alfa, and Fiat.
But it’s the lack of organisation and customer service that lets the country down. Most noticeably for us it’s the trains that don’t run on time and we end up missing connections and continually advising our hosts we’re going to be late. A real contrast to German and Austrian trains - you can usually set your watch by them.
Perhaps it’s just the Italian psyche. Returning to a religious theme, there’s an old joke that’s been around for decades.
Heaven is where:
The police are British
The chefs are Italian
The mechanics are German
The lovers are French
and it's all organised by the Swiss.
Hell is where:
The police are German
The chefs are British
The mechanics are French
The lovers are Swiss
and it's all organised by the Italians.
Not too far wrong.
Italian cuisine is certainly good, but it’s stuck in a time warp. Nothing changes. There are classic dishes, but they remain classics unchanged over time. What I admire about NZ cuisine, as exemplified by Pauline through her devouring of Cuisine mags, is that kiwis take the best of the best from all around the world and enhance it with constant innovation, strong flavours and the freshest of ingredients. Just one of the many reasons I’m marrying this woman.
If she’s willing to stick with an opinionated old curmudgeon like me, that is.
So what’s next for the peripatetic itinerants? Has nostomania kicked in, or are we going to extend our travels?
The festive lights are all up, the cities are looking lovely after dark, and it would be great to have a white Christmas as winter starts to bite. Spain, Portugal and Morocco are nice at this time of year too if we wanted to follow the sun. Or we could return to Santorini or Rhodes, which we loved. Maybe even Cappadocia which we missed when we were in Turkey.
Sadly the tickets are booked and we’ll be home in a week via Hong Kong. I’ve got a project to run, and so too has Pauline - it’s called a wedding. I’ve skilfully delegated all the detail to her. Just tell me where to stand and when to say “I do”. Sorted.
We’ve cleverly missed the spring squalls back home, and I’m looking forward to shedding layers as we head into a kiwi summer. Shedding the lard layer and getting my body back into shape is on the agenda too.
If she’s willing to stick with an opinionated old curmudgeon like me, that is.
So what’s next for the peripatetic itinerants? Has nostomania kicked in, or are we going to extend our travels?
Sadly the tickets are booked and we’ll be home in a week via Hong Kong. I’ve got a project to run, and so too has Pauline - it’s called a wedding. I’ve skilfully delegated all the detail to her. Just tell me where to stand and when to say “I do”. Sorted.
We’ve cleverly missed the spring squalls back home, and I’m looking forward to shedding layers as we head into a kiwi summer. Shedding the lard layer and getting my body back into shape is on the agenda too.
So stay tuned. One more post from Hong Kong, then a Tramp Abroad will go quiet. For a while.
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