Firenze

June 12
Upon entering the Uffizi, I was confronted with a long line, corresponding to a metal detector and X-ray machine. The line moved quickly, but this was still the strongest security I had ever gone through to get into a museum or for that matter a foreign country. I got away with more at the UN in New York than I did at these museums. I have to wonder if the threat to their collection is credible or if they are merely taking every possible precaution to protect their priceless artifacts.

In any case, once we were in, I was immediately gratified by the immense collection. The main hallway has busts of Roman Emperors as well as paintings of the Ottoman Sultans and larger paintings of European leaders. There were entire rooms dedicated to Renaissance masters, and those who painted in their style. Seeing Botticelli and da Vinci paintings that I had only read about was breathtaking. I had never noticed the amount of detail in the Primavera or the sense of movement in the Birth of Venus. I had never seen a Leonardo da Vinci before. Giovanni Bellini and Caravagio were both a bit too dark for my taste, but the experience of seeing the work of someone who died around the same time Europeans were finding the Continent I live on was still amazing. This does not even take in to consideration the fact that all of this is housed in the Medici’s office building. It was well worth the security, and the hassle of reservations; I shuddered to look at the line for people without reservations.


For whatever reason, it was decided that the area under the dome ought to be closed to visitors to the Cathedral. This seems kind of like putting David under scaffolding at the Accademia; the rest of it is still nice and we were glad we went, but that kind of defeats the point of going. It was still a huge Cathedral with all of the grandiose visions that go along with that, but the only frescos are under the dome. I could see just the tiniest bit of painting from the closest I could get and wanted more. At least they could not close the outside; it still has the grandest façade of any Cathedral I have ever seen. The white marble with green marble stripes is unique among gothic Cathedrals I have seen, and the ornate carving on every square inch of the building is magnificent. Of course there is always the dome, almost invisible in the winding streets and then immediately there, gigantic and spectacular as you enter the piazza. One must not know history or architecture to see this as a masterwork.


If you want to know what is so great about Michelangelo’s David, just picture David in your mind. Now make him four times as large and twice as lifelike. Now you are close to having an accurate idea of his size in real life. I had seen him before and I was still shocked by his size and realism. It is such an amazing piece that it overshadows the Botticellis and Lippis that are also housed at the also overprotected Accademia.


June 13
The Pitti and the Bargello were both sort of lacking in the art department; I say sort of because when compared to the Ufizzi and the Accademia, the MET is lacking in the art department. Donatello’s David, much to the ladies’ chagrin, was not quite as homosexual looking in person as it is in pictures. His face seems much more serious in person, as well as the entire figure looking much younger than in pictures. Why he went to war in shoes, a hat and nothing else is anyone’s guess, but the figure looked marvelous. Equally marvelous was the fact that there was no barrier between the statue and the patrons. While David at the Accademia is behind thick Plexiglas, keeping everyone at a distance, the Bargello let people up close and personal with their Renaissance art. More impressive than the art, however, I felt the palaces themselves were amazing. The faded frescos in the Bargello, and the fireplaces and furniture in the Pitti made it clear that someone used to live here. The Pitti felt like it was perhaps a rich uncle’s house who was having you over for some tea and to look at his new priceless work that he got at “quite a bargain.”


I had a bit of a revelation today, and I think I will discuss it with Penny. I was in a junk shop with Alice, surveying the latest in retro fashion and used brick-a-brack, when I noticed the proprietor of the shop to be no less than a sixty year old woman with blonde curly hair. I further noticed when Alice wanted to know how much something cost, that she did not speak a word of English. To complete the picture, she had a radio playing in her store and that I could understand the words to every song played; that is to say, that the songs were in the very English that the woman did not speak. Do people here not care about the lyrics to songs? Is English just a more poetic language than Italian? Certainly not. Most of the music was imported from America, but one must ask how music from America could get popular with people who do not speak the language. This concept is very foreign coming from a country where one of the leading genres of music literally strips the virtuosity of any of the players away specifically to elevate the lyrics. In America, bands rise and fall based on their lyrics, and it is quite difficult for an artist who does not sing in English to get popular for that very reason. I listen to a few non-English speaking bands, and I can understand enjoying music for the experience, as opposed to the poetry, but to see a whole country who thinks the way I do is strange coming from a minority back at home.


June 14
As far as interiors are concerned, however, the tiny churches throughout the city are the main attraction. At Ognissanti, there were Botticellis and Lippis close enough to touch, with no glass or anything to impede the viewer. It seemed to be a given that nobody would do anything to harm the paintings in a church, as opposed to the museums, where being run through a metal detector and having your bags X-rayed was necessary to get to the ticket booth. The panels and altar pieces were not the only attraction; the ceilings of all of the smaller churches were painted in the brilliant art of perspective that the Florentines excel at. In a few churches, but most prominent again at Ognissanti, the ceiling was painted in such a way that the church appeared to have a balcony running the perimeter of the church; above this was the ornate roof with a hole in it for the heavens to come through, complete with angels, saints, and of course, Mother, Father and Son. I thought it to be the most brilliant ceiling painting I had ever seen, until I went to another church and found a similar design on its ceiling. Apparently the city is covered with them.


Nerve wracking would be the words I use to describe Florence. The claustrophobic old streets were never meant for cars, but there they are, tearing down the cobblestone streets, causing the most unbelievable racket. Between that and the hordes of tourists, conversation is almost impossible. Most of the piazzas have been turned into parking lots; here I would grant them that parking is much needed in the city so the transformation might be required. To add to the frustration, some museums require reservations, and all of them offer, so it is difficult to tell which ones need it and which don’t so might as well get it for all of them. This leads to a much more structured day than one ought to have amongst the neat cafés and artisan shops. Instead of ducking into that little shop with the artist carving wood and brass, we must hurry so that we do not miss our reservation.

It did, however, have beautiful buildings with tidy façades and gigantic wooden doors. It seemed as if the commune had a contest to see who could put the largest wooden doors on their building, as the smallest was still bigger than any I had ever used. The art of the city’s museums and churches is second to none; Florence is still a Renaissance city and can be greatly enjoyed as such, despite the cars and throngs of people. Away from the Uffizi and the Duomo the crowds die down a bit, until finally you turn a corner and find an almost empty street, devoid of cars, and you realize that this is the city in the brochure, this is the city in the Panegyric, this is Florence.


Another ride on Trenitalia seems to be another chance for them to screw something up. On the way to Florence we were told that it is entirely possible that the Festival of Corpus Christi would render the trains to Merano immobile and that we would be stranded, maybe as far away as Bolzano. This thankfully did not come to pass, but we did get stranded in Terlano for half an hour because the track broke. However, nobody on the train spoke both English and Italian enough to be certain that it was not the feast that stopped us. We were all order off of the train to wait for a bus. Then the broken train drove away. Figuring that further transport by train would be impossible, I inquired at the local pub as to the phone number of a taxi service. I was laughed at. Luckily, another train arrived, the track was fixed, and it was only a 22Euro cab fare to the castle as opposed to a 73Euro cab fare. I also learned later that it was the track and not the train, so for the first time, everything the railway did made sense. I do not blame the company for having a broken track, causing us to miss the last bus and take a cab; machines break. Why did the railway tell us that the trains may or may not be running because of the feast? Should they not be the first to know of a possible railway closure, as opposed to the last?