I catch about three hours of sleep on the Seattle to Frankfurt flight. I wake up at 3:30 AM, regardless of time zone... But I got to see a blue and purple striped pre-dawn sky above the rugged, icy expanse of the Arctic, which was pretty darn cool...

We land in Frankfurt at about 9 AM Tuesday. Oh Franfurt, how I am learning to hate you. A Manual Full Body Frisk including a visual peek down the front of my pants! The alarm was apparently set off by the safety pin I used to secure my money belt, which I also had to take off and have scanned separately. Bin Ladin may be dead but his legacy lives on. And I cannot get through that airport without leaving something there. Last year it was jewelry. This trip it's a water bottle and very nearly my camera and my hat. My shopping list now includes 'things to leave in Frankfurt intentionally to appease the travel god...'

The flight to Florence is delayed, but neither the delay nor the change of gate is announced. After checking the arrivals and departures board for the fifth time, I make a mad dash to the opposite end of the concourse to the new gate, happy now that I had to check my other bag. It's a short flight but there is significant turbulence during landing, and I was sick by the time I got off the plane. Dazed and confused, I had such difficulty finding the exit that a plain clothes police officer stopped me and asked my nationality and purpose of my trip, but let me pass without requesting my passport.

Finally finding the way outside, I physically stumble into the bus that will take me to my B&B. “San Frediano?” I ask, and the driver nods, before taking off full speed on twisty roads that don't seem to have any lanes, and which are not helping to settle my still queasy stomach. I didn't take public transit when I was here last, and traffic is completely insane. After asking the driver twice if we were near San Frediano, a local rider takes pity on me and tells me which stop to get off at.

I get off the bus and walk up and down the street several times looking for a sign, before I remember that in Florence, bed and breakfasts do not have signs, you have to look for a labeled doorbell. Finally I find one for S. Frediano. But its he wrong S. Friediano... more walking, further down the street where I found a bus stop with the bus stops labeled. San Frediano is the next stop up the street. The hotel was on the other side of the street, obscured by scaffolding.

San Frediano Mansion

Via Borgo San Frediano 8

50124 Firenze, Italy

Tel (0039) 055 212991

Fax (0039) 055 2675413

www.sanfredianomansion.com

info@sanfredianomansion.com

Traveler's Note: In Italy, the ground floor is Floor 0. So when you are told that your room is on the 4th floor, add at least one flight to that number. In some buildings, a 'flight' has two landings, sometimes with a room on that landing. As I was to learn in Genoa, my room on the 4th floor was actually closer to 6 floors up, with no lift, which is why it is so important to pack as light as you can.

I am surprised to find a lift here, just big enough for two people with a small suitcase each. Gigantic rolling American luggage will not do you any favors here. The lobby is exactly as shown on their website. My room has no ambiance or view but is adequate and has a small safe and a private bath. Back downstairs, at the back of the building, through two immense leaded glass doors, lies a garden with a grape arbor over a bench, where I am sitting as I write this. Calla lilies and iris are blooming here already. The iron gate on the street side overlooks the Arno Fiume (Arno River).

I take a shower and then a walk to find landmarks and dinner. I Love This City! It feels impossible get lost here. And unlike my last trip here where I stayed downtown, here I'm in an actual neighborhood called, interestingly enough, San Frediano... ringed by the churches of Santo Spirito, San Frediano and Santa Maria, within a block of a pharmacy, two laundromats, a couple of convenience stores, and plenty of cheap eats. Lasagna for dinner, which has a texture more like pudding than the heavy pasta American version. I am sitting at my table with my netbook, getting a lot of stares. I assume it's the netbook, perhaps I have breached some sort of ettiquete, so I finish quickly and head down the street. A melon gelato a few blocks later serves as desert, although there is no coffee shop in sight. In case of emergency, use the cappuccino automan at the hotel.

I walk around until dusk, and then head back to my quiet room to review my sight seeing plan for the next day, and let dreams come as I drift off to sleep ...

May 4 – Florence Second Day

This morning I take a walk to the train station in preparation for my trip to Genoa tomorrow. Googlemaps shows it's about 15 minutes away by foot, but I stop to exchange some currency, and buy breakfast (a sandwich with too much bread and too little meat), so I didn't get an accurate time. I get to the train station, walk around inside to make sure I can find all the gates, and then walk across the parking strip in front to buy a day pass for the bus. My first blisters appear at 11 AM.

I hop onto the D bus which stops right in front of the train station, and ride back to the hotel. From there I take a short walk to the Pitti Palace. I spend over two hours in the costume gallery alone, about half of that time sitting at the computer in back, looking at slides of all the pieces they have in storage. Here's a selection of photos from the Pitti Palace and Costume Collection catalog.

After an obligatory stop at the Library Store and lunch at the cafeteria (a very Italian caprese salad and a caffe latte) I head out to the Boboli Gardens, where I wander for much of the rest of the day.

The Boboli Gardens

My last trip to Florence ended in this garden, and would be the 'official' starting point for this trip. The grounds date back to 1550 and cover an extensive area behind the Pitti Palace.I was a little disappointed that the Island Fountain (Vasca dell'Isola) was still locked. There are a fair number of tourists, and several of us spot a heron perched on the edge of the fountain. I never find the Perseus on Horseback that is supposed to be partially submerged here, and wonder if it has been removed (and the guidebooks and postcards never updated). I ask a fellow tourist to take my photo next to the sandstone columns that support the locked iron gates which block our path to the garden. They are topped with marble Capricorns, symbolizing Cosimo Medici. The lemon trees are full of fruit... I wander up Cypress Lane and through the cypress arbors that run the length and breadth of this park, a feature I am exceedingly fond of. I forced myself to take a seat on one of the rustic benches in one of these arbors, just to listen to the birds and relax my eyes in the dappled shade.

There are quite a few statuary here, displaying such a broad range of styles and time periods that at times the mix is jarring. I find the grotto, one of the buildings I missed the last time I was here. It is dark and appears to be in disrepair.

I figure out how to take a movie with my camera, and capture the the sound of birds and running water as I walk along the Mostaccini Fountain. I come here to drop coins and well-wishes into the mouths of the Mostaccini for friends and family, and walk along the length of it, admiring the fantastical heads, of which no two are the same. It was built in the early 1600's as a water source for birds, which were then hunted with nets.

There are so many birds in this garden...

There are three labyrinths in this garden but I don't come across any of them. The amphitheater, aka the Grotto of Moses, has fallen into disrepair and the frescoes are peeling off the stonework.

I find the Porcelain Museum, but I am not as impressed with it as I am the view, and the garden just outside the door with it's boxwood maze surrounding pink roses and peonies. On the way back down the sloping grounds, I find a bench overlooking the Forcone Basin, a collection point for water used to irrigate the grounds. In the center of the Forcone stands a bronze Neptune, dating to 1571 and sculpted by Soldo Lorenzi, originally for a flower garden north of the Pitti Palace, but moved here here in about 1635. It is pretty common for artworks here to have been commissioned for specific places, and then later moved. The David is among those examples (see my 2008 Florence journal for details about that) Here are additional photos of the San Frediano Mansion and the Boboli Gardens.

Galileo's house is supposed to overlook this garden, but I cannot find it, so I decide to walk up to the Piazza Michelangelo and look for the house on my way back. I return to the San Frediano with my bag of books, stopping along the way for a lemon and cocoa gelato (which isn't as tasty as yesterday's melon), and to swap out my refillable water bottle for fresh bottled water, after the tap water started to make my gut complaintive. Back at the hotel, it's another caffe ginseng from the automan, and a break to get off my feet for awhile. My pretty silk screened socks are a bad combination with my shoes, especially in this heat, so a second set of bandages are applied and the socks come off for the rest of the day.

The #12 or #13 buses go directly to the piazza but I can't find the stop to catch it at, so I start the exhaustive climb up the hill. Once there, the view was the reward...the best panorama of the city outside of the Ghiotti Tower.

Just as I am looking for a place to eat, a #13 bus was waiting, so I ran and hopped on. It seemed like a good idea at the time...

It took a very lovely meandering scenic route back down the hill, and along the Strozzi Wall which I would not have seen elsewise. But I didn't get off when I should have, and ended up in a completely different and modern part of town. Off the bus, I take my usual 'turn left instead of right' navigational style which made matters much worse. I finally ask an elderly passerby to please point me in the direction of the Ponte Vecchio, and she waved me off with some annoyance, in the direction I had just come. So I spent the next hour or so backtracking and trying to find my way back to the Arno Fiume. It should go without saying that I never do find the abode of the great Galileo...

At one point I see the two construction cranes that I had seen from the Piazza Michelangelo, and a few minutes later, the Duomo, so I keep those landmarks in my sight as I trudge wearily along, keeping as close to the riverbank as I can. I find a bridge, walk onto it and look down the Arno to see where the Ponte Veccio is. Argh... I turn the other direction and can only see one bridge. Had I continued on my original path I would have been well west of where I wanted to be, and in fact,would have walked my way right off of my map...

Walking, walking, walking, oh, look, there's the Strozzi Wall that I passed while I was on the bus! Finally I arrive back in the land of 'houses with green shutters'. The heels of my shoes are about an 1/8 of a inch shorter now than they were this morning.

It has been a long day and I am famished with a capital F. I pop into Dante Trattoria Pizzeria for dinner. I order a glass of their house chianti, bread with olive oil, pappardelle in wild boar sauce, and a nice piece of salmon. The boar is a surprise, I expect it to taste like pork but it's more like deer. I watch the wait staff ignore the line of customers at the door even though I see empty tables. The atmosphere seems a little uptight and I finish my meal quicker than I intend to, just so I can leave. Back in my room, I review my documents and pack for Genoa.

In spite of a low key morning spent in one of my favorite gardens, the day morphs into frustration and fatigue, and an evening exercise in uncalled for stress. First I panic over a pair of train tickets that I just now notice do not match my itinerary, then about not getting to the train station on time. Then I panic because I forgot to ask if the WIFI came at a cost. One stupid little thing after another. I think my mental fatigue is far greater than I had realized and its taking me a long time to decompress. I go to bed resolving to get to the station early tomorrow to get the train tickets straightened out, and to give the concierge at the San Frediano a credit card for the internet charges so I don't start bouncing checks. I am still awake and worried at 1 AM...

May 5 – I Arrive in Genova

By 5 AM I have tamed the howling stress monkey to a duller roar. The train station is 15 minutes away by foot, I have already been there and I have plenty of time. The return train ticket from Genova can wait, and may actually give me greater return options if I wait to correct it at the station of departure. Train tickets are not that expensive and I can buy another if I need to. And if I need to stay overnight, well, that's part of the adventure. I will ask about the internet before I leave so I stop worrying about it. I catnap until 7 AM before bounding out of bed, determined to get out into the city rather than mulling around in this room. The wall I saw last night that I thought was Strozzi Fort, I believe now to be Belvedere Fort. The Strozzi Fort is just past the train station and is my destination this morning.

I set out on the path I took yesterday which led me straight to the station. Today however, is a different day... Inexplicably, I find myself on the Ponte Veccio, the next bridge over. I'm not sure how I did that but I take the opportunity to take some great shots of the gold shops while their windows are still encased in their medievalesque wooden doors and shutters. The vendors are setting up in the logias and a few yards beyond them, I slow my pace to better enjoy the wares of a flower vendor. I stop for a lovely but brief breakfast at the Riviori in the shadow of the Bargello Museum. I watch with some fascination as a sparrow hops around the marble floor below the pink linen draped tables in this little Continental restaurant. Cappuccino and cresta finished, I decide to head over to the Duomo to get my bearings back. My muscles are now starting to lament the lack of protein at breakfast.

Apparently I cannot get there from here. Every turn takes me further off course and I have no sense of where I am, which baffles me completely. The first time I was here I couldn't get lost if I tried, this trip I am nothing but lost. I see a taxi stand, but decide against waiting there as I don't recall seeing any taxis downtown. None of the buses are the right ones. I finally make sense of my map and despite all odds, I still manage to arrive at the train station an hour early.

I walk down the street to what at first I think is a park, but it's actually a government building with no public access. I go further down the street to the Strozzi Fort but find a small freeway separating us. My feet are killing me and I don't feel up to dodging five lanes of traffic, so I admire the fortification from where I stand, and think that perhaps this is what Lucca must looks like.

I scan the interior of the train station for a gelato stand but end up with a soft serve and a McMuffin at McDonald’s. Fast food is bad no matter what country you are in... The Italians do not seem to eat protein early in the day and so far the only breakfast protein I've found has been wrapped in thick slices of focaccia. I sit until my feet stop hurting and then go to the platform where my train is supposed to arrive. It never shows up on the readerboard at the platform. After checking the main departure board a second and third time, I find that the gate has changed. I make a mad dash for a train that is boarding, thankful that I didn't get here early just to miss it for lack of correct information or double checking...

The first leg of this trip from Firenze to Pisa is uneventful. I choose a seat near the schematic showing the stations, as it was stressful the last time I was here not knowing the order of the train stops. It's not a problem this time as Pisa is the end of the line and the conductor called out all the stops. An older American gentleman takes the seat across from me and we make idle chit-chat as I try to write postcards, and he focuses on taking video with his camera phone.

The Pisa train station reminds me of the international concourse at SeaTac. The first thing I encounter is a group of Haitian men in an argument that is quickly clearing the concourse in anticipation of it breaking into a fight. Panic again sets in as I realize I am not going to make my return connection in 12 minutes. Further stress ensues when I cannot find any of my return train numbers on the printed Departure schedule. I seek assistance at the customer service desk. After wrestling with a ticket that did no match my printed itinerary, it turns out that it is actually correct... its a direct train from La Spezia to Firenze without having to connect in Pisa. Cool! I feel my bags being jostled every time I move, and swing them in front of me so they don't get rifled through. I am happy in the knowledge that I will not have to pass through to this haven for the seedier side of humanity on my return trip.

I must say that the European train system puts US transit to shame, and makes Seattle's bus and train station feel like someone's back yard homework project. We have a lot to learn.

I find my seat in First Class, one of six comfy chairs in a glassed in cabin shared with an older gentleman and a young couple with their toddler. A toddler who quickly becomes fascinated with my netbook and mouse and starts screaming when his parents pull him away. I wrap up my document about 10 minutes later when it becomes obvious that working on my netbook is going to remain a problem, and resort to pen and paper for the duration of the trip.

Travel note: Check the readerboards at train stations continuously just like you would at an airport. Book travel by train in First Class if you are with a group, or if you plan to sleep. It would be fun with friends, it's not so much with strangers. In the general coach (economy) seating, without the confines of the cubicles, you have a wider choice of people to interact with and can move to a different seat if the first one you have chosen is not to your liking.

Pisa looks a lot different than Firenze. The plants are very different and I don't recognize several of them. Many homes have backyard gardens large enough to sustain their family. Even the modern buildings are built in the traditional Italian style, with stucco walls and red tile roofs. The mountains are short but rugged, and there appears to be old stone buildings or fortress walls on the top of some of them. Further down the line, one of the closer ranges appears to have snow, though now I wonder it that might have been white wildflowers instead. Freight cars are round-topped and look like large gypsy wagons. Red poppies grow wild. We pass several stone quarries, and large blocks of white marble line the side of the railroad tracks.

We reach La Spezia, the halfway point between Pisa and Genova. I catch glimpses of the sea between long expanses of tunnel. Further up the coast, the houses and mansions take on the water colored stucco so prevalent in Venice. There are date palms, and the beaches have turned from brown sand to rugged rock and breakwaters. It is incredibly beautiful and I am now really glad I chose this route.

We speed through one final tunnel and at last we arrive in Genova, which more resembles Florence than I expected it to. The train station is beautiful, with its rococo ceiling and stained glass windows. I debate whether or not to take a taxi, I must have an inherent mistrust of them, though I was curious with the corps that were vespas... after a few mis-starts and finally finding an English speaking travel agent to point me in the right direction, I set ou to find tonight's lodging.

I walk through a downtown shopping core that looks like Florence, with wide sidewalks covered with logias reminiscent of those that surround San Marco Piazza in Venice, except that these have neon signs suspended from the vaulting. I force myself to stop and look up from time to time, reminding myself that this is as much about the journey as it is the destination.

I find the street almost by accident after Google directions fail. But I cannot find the building. I completely forget to look for names on doorbells instead of depending on the building numbers, and end up walking past the unmarked and unobtrusive green door countless times. I try to call Maria's cell but my phone card fails. It's now 5:30 and I'm two hours later than she was expecting. I'm close to tears with frustration and have asked at least 10 people where this address is, only to be waved off in the general direction of the street. Finally, on my last pass, I find a note taped to the door with Maria's cell phone number. I call again with pocket change instead of the calling card, and get right through. We agree to meet at 7 PM, two hours from now.

My feet are rebelling and I can barely walk. I buy a piece of cheese focaccia for dinner from the bakery to the left of the Green Door, and a delightful caffe violetta from Bar Pacini to the right, who advertises themselves as 'L'Arte dell Expresso'. It tastes like a liquid candied violets. I could be in trouble if I stayed here longer than a day. The row of shops in this block includes three pastry shops, two espresso shops, and a Chinese restaurant.

While I am waiting for Marie, a young East Indian man takes a seat near me and offers me a cigarette. Uh-oh, here we go... but he is very nice and we had a lengthy albeit very broken language chat. He's lived in Italy for ten years cleaning houses, has a wife and two children, speaks Italian well, English not so well. He asked me where I was from, and when I said the US, he said “America. Beautiful country. Hollywood.” More chatter, much of which I couldn't understand, and after another fifteen minutes, he shook my hand and left. The conversation gave me a feel for why Italians don't understand me when I try to speak their language...

I'm so tired that I don't even have the energy to find a decent dinner. I hobble around the corner in search of a bottle of water, but end up with the fizzy stuff which I hate. I'm getting cold and starting to feel pretty sorry for myself. My watch clicks over to 7 PM, the church bell peals 30 times and metal doors start rolling down over shopfronts. Marie shows up, and I wave to get her attention as she is looking for a woman with luggage. “Nope, that would not be me” I reply. Never pack more than you need, and NEVER pack more than you are willing to carry up several flights of stairs.

She swings open the heavy green door and closes it behind me as I start to gasp. Oh My WORD! There's a marble guy standing in a grotto in the courtyard, and the customary but much more narrow wrought iron gate...She says I'm clever not packing so much stuff as my room is at the top of the building. Every floor elicits another Oh MY and she starts to giggle. She apologizes that the rustic Chinese room I wanted is already occupied but she hopes to at least show it to me tomorrow. She shows me to the room I think is called Luna. I spend my first half hour there, just taking pictures...

 

This room is three times the size of the one I'm staying in in Firenze and includes a working kitchen decorated with mirrors and handmade blue tiles. The bathroom, complete with the mosaic ship from the photo on the website, is the size of the main room and includes a full size bathtub... a rarity among European B&Bs. It has no WIFI but other than that it runs screaming beyond my every expectation. This building was a convent in the 14th century, and Maria demonstrates the acoustics by flicking on a light switch, which we can hear as it clicks on on the bottom floor. Mother Superior could always hear the front door... The view from this room is the courtyard, formed by four 14th century towers. Not the splashy view indicated on their website, but one which is much more quiet and sublime. I could easily take up residence here. Here are the rest of the photos for the Ducale Genova.

The lack of WIFI presents a problem with planning my day tomorrow. The web pages I saved to my netbook are corrupted, and I really wish I had printed this stuff as I had planned to before an acquaintance talked me out of doing that. A cursory look through this room hasn't yielded a guidebook yet, so tomorrow may be another frustrating day. We'll just have to see how it plays out. Meanwhile, I think I'll take a nice, hot bath...

According to the website, 'The Ducale Genova B&B is set in a medieval tower very similar to that of the Palazzo Ducale (the Ducal Palace across the street). It is part of a historic building dating back to 1400 and is included in the UNESCO World Heritage registry.' Maria, who owns and manages this property, does not accept credit cards, so verify the total due with her as she will require cash in local currency upon your arrival. (Ducale Genova, Via Di Porta Soprana, 5/10, 16121 Genova Italy
www.bb-ducalegenova.it/)

May 6 – Genova Day Two, It's a Seafaring Town...

I could not have asked for a better day.

I wake up early in spite of a very late bedtime and the usual nocturnus interruptus. The Lanterna opens at 8 AM so I decide to head out so I can arrive before the crowds. I find a guidebook at a vendor across the street in the Piazza de Ducale Genova and take it to the Arte dell Caffee, where I study it while enjoying a cup of caffe ginseng at the coffee bar. But the guide has no useful detail about the Lanterna, and its not even included on the map. I ask the caffekeep who points me in the general direction. On my way out, I capture the infamous green door on film, and noted the numbering sequence on the street. Starting at 9, then 7, 17, 15, 5 (my door), a door with no number, another with no number, and another 7. I was looking for 5/10 and had no hope of finding it short of reading the labels on the doorbells. Which is the only way I have managed to find any of my hotels thus far. Fellow travelers take heed...

 

It's a pleasant walk to the waterfront, past a boat in drydock that is being pressure washed, past the aquarium, and the Neptune, a replica of a 17th century galleon that was used in Roman Polanski's 'Pirate' film. A little further down the street, in front of the maritime office, an open air tour bus is waiting. The driver speaks enough English to point up the street towards the Lanterna. I said I would be back for a tour, he said to wait until after 1 PM because there is a labor strike today. '”Fun for you” I said, and he laughed.

 

I head out, but find the sidewalk blocked for part of the way, and then I run straight into the rally, which the Genoans refer to as a “Public Manifestation.” The Transportation Union strike has shut the ferries down, and a police escort is clearing the street for about 200 marchers who follow the beat of music blasting from huge stereo speakers stacked into the back of a pick-up truck. An old man hands me a Communist newspaper and indicates that I need to respond in cash, but I hand the paper back to him. It doesn't seem smart for me to travel around Europe with Communist literature in my suitcase...I did bring home a flyer though, which I replicate here:

PER COMBATTERE LA DISUGUAGLIANZA SODCIALE, LA PRECARIETA, LA CRISI ECONOMICA PRODUCTTIVA Per difendere il diritto al lavoro e I diritti nel lavoro, per donne e uomini, cittadini italiana e migranti PER UN NUOVO MODELLO DI SVILUPPO CHE VALORIZI LA GIUSTIZIA SOCIALE, L'AMBIENTE I SAPERI E LA RICERCA PER UN FISCO CHE CONTRIBUISCA ALLA RIDISTRIBUZIONE DELLA RICCHEZZA: MENO TASSE A LAVORATORI E PENSIONATI, TASSARE LE RENDITE FINANZIARIE E GRANDI PATRIMONI Per uno stato sociale incluvio e fonte di ricchezza sociale PERDARE UNN FUTURO AI GIOVANI SENZA DIMENTICARE ANZIANI E MIGRANTI Per il diritto delle lavoratrici e dei lavoratori a votare piattaforme e accordi PERDIFENDERE LA DEMOCRAZIA E FONDAMENTALE VOTARESIAI REFERNDUM DEL 12 GIUGNO CONTRO IL NUCLEARE PER L'ACQUA BENE COMUNE per un paese migliore SEL aderisce allo SCIOPERO ed e in manifesazione con I lavoratori e le lavoratrici, le/i giovani con I pensionatio e le pensionate. Sinistra ecologia LIBERTA con Vendola

I watch this 'public manifestation' long enough to take a movie before continuing on my way.

The Lanterna

The Lanterna dates back to 1543, having been rebuilt after the original was destroyed in a fire in 1514. It stands a total of 177 meters (the rock takes up 40 meters on its own) and the light can be seen for 36 nautical miles. Unlike most lighthouses, this one is square. It is perched high above a working port which dates back to the Roman era, and claims to be the oldest working lighthouse in the world. The boardwalk leading up top the Lanterna is studded with informational signs but I only read every other one, believing I'd be able to find a book with this information in the gift shop (which will turn out to not be the case...)

The first sign describes the Lanterna Promenade (Passeggiata Panoramica) that marks the ancient road connecting Genoa to its Western neighbors, and following the walls that surround the city. The boardwalk leading up to the lighthouse is being coated with marine tar. A police car stopped behind me, and a dark haired cop asked if I am here to see the Lanterna. After a minute or two he seems to realize that I was a tourist, and after several more attempts, communicates to me that the lighthouse is the “Cymbol of Genova.” Our language barrier prevents further conversation which is really unfortunate. I hike up to the base of the lighthouse and go to the ticket office window.

But the Lanterna is closed! It is only open on weekends. No amount of pleading gains me access to the tower, but I am welcome to wander through the public park surrounding the base of the tower, and visit the museum. Reconciling myself to that fact, I find a bench and take a snack break. I look over to my left to see that the officers that had stopped me earlier (no doubt wondering what I was doing there on a day the site was closed) were also finishing their break. As they get up to leave, I ask to take their picture. The blond cop takes my camera, and without speaking, motions for me to stand with his partner so he can take our photo. The partner asks me where I am from, and when I say Seattle, he responded with “Ah, Rainy City.” “Yes,” I said. He then starts to lead me somewhere to show me something, and as I turn to retrieve my purse from the bench, his partner walks over to keep an eye on it. The dark haired officer shows me the garden that lay below the foot of the Lanterna, and that I would have completely missed had he not pointed it to me. What a great interchange that was...and a great trade off for not being able to get inside. The 365 steps to the top of the lighthouse would have probably done me in anyway...

Here is a combined album of photos of the Lanterna and the Genoa Aquarium (which is described a little later in this journal)

 

 

Genoa is another city where the museum -is- the museum...the Lanterna Museum is in the fortified part of the base of the tower, which did not defend the lighthouse, but rather, the Porta Nuovo, the gate that marked the road leading from East to West. The first several rooms are nothing but benches and video screens, each screen depicting a different aspect of Ligurian culture and arts. The range was broad, from modern port traffic, to medieval sculpture and paint, velvet weaving, processing fruit for confectionery, choir boys preparing for a church processional... this would be a really great place to spend a very hot afternoon. Deeper inside this building I arrive in rooms filled with the several pieces of the lighthouse and walls covered with schematic drawings, many of which I photographed.

I find my way down into the park. On the other side of the base there are more signs, including one that describes the houses in the distance that were the summer manors for Genoans during the 16th century. Having seen all there is to see, I take one last look at the 'Cymbol of Genova' before trekking back the way I came. My feet, which are now bruised on the soles and blistered in places, are fighting with the heavy cobblestone walkways and are ever so thankful to reach the boardwalk.

A short distance from the Lanterna is a shopping mall, where I hope to find a bookstore and a tome of the history of the Lanterna, but the bookstore is an utter fail, as is a shoe store that I browse in, hoping to find another pair of shoes. I walk to the end of the mall, to the COOP, one of the chain grocery stores in Italy, where I buy lunch... a very tasty spinach ricotta torte and some fresh fruit. Unline Firenze where it is frowned upon for you to handle produce, here you don disposable glvoes and help yourself. You must weigh and print a barcode for every piece of produce you buy, which I forgot to do this with a banana, and I was not allowed to buy it. It was amusing to see hard liquor on the shelf as well, including vodka, grapppa, one brand of whiskey and a small choice of Baileys.

It's now about 1 PM, time to find the tour bus. Traffic is at a stand still and I soon see a police escort returning to the rally point, marching in front of a more raggle taggle angry youth crowd from the labor demonstration. I'm progressing faster on foot than the cars are... I arrive at the aquarium just as one of the tour buses is pulling in. I've never ridden one of these before but I highly recommend it for anyone new to a city. It's a great way to see things that may be too far for trekking to by foot, and it really helped me to orient to the neighborhood I was staying in.

The narration over the headphones talked about the arcaded walkways, covered with arabesque archways (similar to Venice), and how Genova made very efficient use of the limited land they had between the sea and the mountain. We passed an opera house that was rebuilt after being destroyed during the bombings of WWII, and a row of delicate archways that is all that remains of a medieval Benedictine abbey. An ornate building that during the Renaissance functioned as Genoa's stock exchange. An Arc de Triumph built by a prominent Communist architect, and beyond it, a garden dedicated to Christopher Columbus, with his three ships in 'bloom” on a terraced plot, though I later discover that the visual interest is lost the closer you get to it. The Oriental Market, laid out in concentric circles in an old convent. The Palace of Giants, marked on its corners by pairs of marble men supporting the buildings Greco-Roman columns on their shoulders. The Abbey of St. Steven, built from pink stone from Liguria, considered to be one of the most valuable building materials in Genova. You can see more of Genova's architecture here.

I notice several buildings with Juliet-style balconies, some in wrought iron but most in stone. A few buildings are decorated in elaborate trompe d'oile. A top floor apartment is flying a pirate flag from its corner terrace. The narration on the tour bus also mentions the trademark striped marble buildings as a main feature in Ligurian architecture. The train station decorated in Neo-Classic style but which dates to 1905. I hop off the tour bus and scurry to my next destination.

The Genoa Aquarium

Built for the Genoa Expo 1992, the aquarium houses 63 tanks in its 10,000 meter space, and is said to be the largest indoor aquarium in Europe. The first tank features a reconstruction of a 15th century pier in the harbor of Genova, considered the starting point for the voyage of Christoper Columbus and other prominent Genovan navigators.

The singular thing that struck me about the tanks was the intense landscaping. Unlike the Seattle aquarium which has bare tanks, these are a marvel to look at even if there were no fish. Some of the coral is from the coastline along the Cinque Terra (the 'hill towns'). Curious facts about the aquarium and its inhabitants include a seal pup delivered by C-section in 2001, the first such delivery in the world for a seal. A pod of Metropolitan Dolphins resides along the coast between Pisa and La Spezia. And Ari, the sea turtle residing in the Caribbean exhibit, who was smuggled into Italy by a tourist from the Maldives and later abandoned. A rescue turtle :)

 

The penguin tank was a scream! I was happy that this video turned out so well. It was a lot of fun to watch them swim along the glass and then hop out and hobble onto land. The tank replicates the environment of the Falkland Islands and is inhabited by both Gentoo penguins from the Antarctic (measuring about 80 cm tall and 5-8 kilo in weight) and Magellanics from the coast of Chile and Argentina. (70 cm tall, 3-5 kilo in weight). They buzzed the glass constantlhy and were very interactive with us. I even captured a very brief movie.

I also watched a diver cleaning the tropical lagoon, where a very playful sea turtle kept coming up to 'kiss' the diver's facemask and rub along the entire length of his body. Another rescue turtle, she was discovered in 2000 in a box addressed to the aquarium, with a note that said the turtle was born in August 1996 and had come from Cuba. “After a complex animal foster care procedure, the turtle was officially entrusted to the aquarium by CITES.” Biologists named her Cuba.

I exit the aquarium and traverse the boardwalk, past the farmer's market and Jamaican vendors selling purses and sunglasses, past the Neptune galleon and on to the Galata Museum of the Sea, a museum my dad would have really loved. The Galata is one of the oldest buildings in Genova's Darsena (dockyard) and is part of a 10,000 meter complex exhibiting 17 galleries, not including the submarine outside :)

The building has low spreading curved ceilings which shape the room like a Quonset hut, is themed “The Age of Oar.” There are banks of armor, a reliquary containing some of the ashes of Christopher Columbus, and a full scale replica of a 17th century Genoese galleon. The Age of Sail exhibit covered 2 floors and includes a nice collection of globes and navigational instruments, although the room is very dimly lit and it was difficult to get decent photos.

The third floor was unexpectedly fascinating. “The Age of Steam” walked you through rooms on board an Italian Transatlantic Steam Liner circa 1861, as a 3rd class passenger would have experienced them, complete with engine noise and a view of the sea out of the tiny porthole. Towards the end of this floor you are given a 'passaporto' and immigration papers, and are taken through the immigration process at Ellis Island. The passport is bar coded and activates a video inspection officer which is apparently pretty amusing judging by the reactions of the Italians in front of me. Yet another reason to master Italian before visiting Italy... Here are more photos of the Galata Museum exhibits.

 

After signing a release and checking my bags into a locker, I put on the hair net and hardhat I am handed, and board a reproduction of the N. Sauro, Italy's largest submarine. Had I been aware of the pre-show, I would have learned how to use the periscope and hydrophone. I should have opted for the free headset which apparently also had additional instruction. There is also an entire other half of this Maritime village that I missed for sheer lack of time. Nonetheless, a few more things have been checked off my bucket list : )

The album of shots from this exhibit are here.

I return to my cloister to download photos before heading out again, but by the time I finish, it is well past the dinner hour. I walk to the train station to make sure I can find it in the morning, and make note of the landmarks. I stop at a gelato place a few doors down from the Ducale Genova, and open a case to retrieve a small confection. Much yelling ensues from the shopkeeper who is chastising me for helping myself. She continues to chastise me as she pulls an item from the case, wrapping it in white paper and tying it with pink ribbon, and then continues to yell at me when I try to pay. I don't understand so she repeats herself. Fortunately another customer translates and I quickly whip out more cash so I can leave. A thing I thought was EU3.50 turns out to be EU18 and more than double the size of the treat I had originally selected. Language barriers have resulted in miscommunications on three meals now. It turns out to be the equivalent of cake and ice cream and although it was a very poor choice nutritionally, it is pretty tasty. I ate well enough at lunch and didn't meet my daily requirement of two servings of gelato today, so I justify the sugary splurge. We'll see if the freezer in the kitchenette works. If so, it's cake and gelato for breakfast tomorrow...

I take off my shoes and find that one of my blisters has a blister. I didn't think that was even possible... I'm really regretting not having packed another pair of shoes for this overnight trip. I end the night with a bath, and packing for an early day tomorrow to La Spezia.

May 7 – to La Spezia and Porto Verne

I start out on a very pleasant morning, retracing my steps from last night. I walk past the Benedictine abbey ruins that I saw on the tour bus last night, and step off the sidewalk for some photos. Even in ruins it is a very peaceful place, and my heart is touched by a single rose bush, its blooms framed by the marble columns. I hop back to the street and around the corner through the logia, but the mosaic floors don't look right. I pass under the archway that stretches across the street. Now nothing looks right and despite last night's efforts, once again I am lost.

I start asking passers bys for directions. An older gentleman tries to point me in the right direction but I'm certain it's the wrong way. A little later, a young businessman asks me which train station (which is probably the question the older gentleman was trying to ask me), and motions the way, which gets me back on track. I cannot follow a map nor get my bearings no matter what I do. But I have already made allowances for my ineptitude and allowed myself twice as long as I needed. I arrive at the train station with about 15 minutes to spare

The train travels through Margherite, Chiavari and Sestri. I see orange trees growing in back yards, and a cemetery in Sestri right next to the train track. Through Levanto, then Monterosso, and now, a first class cabin all to myself. I try to write postcards but keep losing my pen. A sore throat sets in.

The train station in La Spezia is very small. There's a wireless hotspot here but I cannot connect to it. The Tourist Information desk is in an unmarked, nondescript building outside the station. The attendant is very helpful and pens in my route to the ferry terminal on a map which he then tears away from a pad of identical maps. How very clever... I make my way down the stairs to the Viume and proceed through the piazzas.

La Spezia must be the home of Benneton. Colors of Benneton. Undercolors of Benneton. Oh, look, another Colors of Benneton. I walk past several places where I should have stopped for something more nutritious than leftover cake and ice cream, but I don't. I'm falling into the same bad habits I had in Alaska...

The waterfront in Genova is filled with Jamaican street vendors. Here the same products are being sold by gypsies. I pass a pair of gypsy women begging for coin, one is particularly aggressive and shouts curses at me as I say “No” several times and pass. I learned in Venice not to give coins to these people as they will continue to hound you for more, sometimes following you down the street. Better to suffer the curses they fling at you and your offspring.

I walk along the ferry docks looking for something quick to eat. I buy a piece of pizza and a diet Coke but end up tossing most of it into the trash. The ferry arrives and I go downstairs before realizing the view is better topside. The rail seats are all taken so I settle into a middle seat under the canvas cover. I am incredibly tired and angry today, probably as a result of really poor meal choices over the last several hours. I keep reaching new pain thresholds and my feet hurt so much I am tempted to stay on the ferry. I keep losing my balance and falling off my shoes, I haven't twisted my ankle yet but its not for lack of trying. I'm really glad I didn't try to do the Cinque Terra tour which is best done on foot. I recall my trip to Alaska, where even with hiking boots, my feet were in very similar shape.

My throat is still sore, but I find my Zycam and Tylenol. I remind myself to breathe....

We leave the dock. A brisk breeze kicks up within the first few minutes which chases several people below decks. I am glad for the sweater and down vest in my overnight bag and slide them on, along with my wool hat. I stay in the center of the boat where the breezes has less impact. I view the coast through the narrow field of my binoculars while paying little attention to the tour guide's narration, which is in Italian and barely audible above the ships' engine. It's a really pleasant excursion and I reach a few moments of contentment.

The Andrea Doria Castle comes into view and in spite of my feet being contrary, I am eager to explore this fortification. I am at once irritated with the people in front of me who stop as soon as they debark, preventing the rest of us from getting off the boat. Stupid Tourists. I have 2.5 hours to see what I want to see and you are In My Way! Finally I get past this throng and walk swiftly along the wharf, noticing how green and clear the water is. I can see the bottom of the gulf and schools of small black fish are winding their way around the sterns of the boats moored here.

Porto Verne has existed as a naval center since at least 161 AD, when Romans used it as a stopping point on their way to Gaul and Spain. The Genoans fortified the city in 1113. The castle itself was built during the 16th century. Napolean later used it as a political prison.

The terrain here is the steepest I have encountered so far. I get a few yards into the market area before turning around and heading back to find the tourist center which has now cleared of Stupid Tourists. I get a map, but as usual I still have to ask for directions from passers by. I really regret not packing a second pair of shoes; the leopard spot mules I have on that I have worn for miles in Seattle, are no math for these stairs. I'm carrying my purse and overnight bag and notice that most other people are carrying either a wallet, or nothing at all. Although I thought I did a good job of packing light for this leg, it was not light enough. Even a purse is too much. A full-size suitcase would have been disabling and would have prevented me from seeing this site. I bully through.

I see the other older castle and church in the distance from the top of the Andrea Doria but decide against trying to walk any more distance today. I also pass by the Lorenzo Church which dates to 1130 AD, but do not go in as I had promised myself to stay out of churches this trip. I edge my way back down the hill. Goodness, the stairs. The STAIRS. Steep, deep, irregular, no handrails in places, and I am in heels and with bags that side with gravity and which threaten to pull me over at times. It takes every ounce of energy I have to get back down without falling. Let this be a lesson: Travel while you are young and able. I'm not sure I would be able to do this in another 10 years. The scenery was amazing though, worth every ache, pain and scare I had as I battled with gravity. The complete photo album is here.

I really want a gelato but even though I see people eating it, I cannot find a stand. The beach I had hoped to find here is a single patch of sand and surf occupied by a couple of kids kicking a volleyball. With the number of blisters I must have by now, dipping my feet into the sea is probably ill advised, so I content myself with sitting in the sun and watching the activity around me. I opt for the next ferry boat back rather than staying here any longer. I have an hour and have found my pen and could probably attend to those postcards. Or I can continue to just sit here in the sun. Guess which one wins...

The tour boat returns and I opt for a seat downstairs. I keep nodding off. Every time I open my eyes I see one of the men from the boisterous group about ten yards away, looking at me. I nod off again. The boat slows and I open my eyes again, knowing this is the dock for La Spezia. The man who had been looking at me is a few steps away from his seat and headed towards me, but when he sees me awaken, he sits back down. I wonder if he was preparing to wake me up so I wouldn't miss my stop...

I had given myself permission to hail a cab back to the train station, but didn't see any cabs at the stop. It's a straight shot back up hill through town so I take a very slow and painful walk. Had I taken a cab, I would have missed the key patterned mosaic in the archway above the sidewalk, a house with aqua shutters instead of green ones, and a much needed gelato, where the cafe tables were dressed with linens and outfitted with wooden ashtrays, which I thought were an interesting contradiction between form and function...

At the train station, I scan the departures board for a train to Firenze but don't see one. I go to the information desk where I am told that my train leaves at 7:10, but will not give me the train number. I go back and ask again. I get a train number but it doesn't seem right. I go to the automatic ticket machine to try to buy a ticket for the next train to Firenze. The ticket it spits out, I cannot read. I am too tired to panic. I go to a different ticket agent and explain that I am sick, and that I want the next train to Firenze. He reprints my vended ticket and gives me one which shows both the times and the train numbers. Finally. Grazie!

I have to connect in Pisa, in even less time than my original internet ticket! Great... I retain both tickets, deciding I can use the original if I miss the connection on the new ticket.

It is spring break and the train is filled with loud chatty teenage girls on holiday. My fingers go into my ears when the noise level becomes intolerable. It's all I can do to not stand up and shout for them to please SHUT UP. Gaads... I commiserate visually with the distinguished looking businessman sitting across from me, when he does the 'finger to head, just shoot me now' gesture which is entertaining in its sheer globality. The decibel level finally declines enough to allow me to nod off, but I wake up at every stop, of which there are far too many on this route. Get me home already...

We arrive in Pisa. The closest exit is barred shut and the girls are taking sweet-all time to exit in front of me. “Hurry!” escapes my lips, in a non too polite outdoor voice...another collection of STUPID TOURISTS blocks the way to the subway down to the station. I push my way through, not really caring whom I offend at this point. I hurry downstairs, then back upstairs to the station, my train is the first one listed on the readerboard. I make a mad dash back downstairs, and then back up again at Platform 8. The Pisa Station isn't so bad after all, and the system works really well once you figure it out. The yellow box on the platform validates my original ticket but not my new one, which can result in a fine if the conductor catches you. I'll just have to take my chances... (either my tickets were never checked on this leg, or the conductor came by while I was asleep and he chose not to wake me up...)

The regional trains are new to the fleet, this one is a double-decker and is fairly luxurious as far as trains go. I procure a window seat for the hour trip through Pontedera-casciana, Empoli, Lastra a Signa. This route is different from the others I've taken so far, taking me through newer areas and industrial districts and green belts. In spite of the new architecture, the style remains the same – multi-story stucco buildings with green shuttered windows and ether tile or what looks like red tile composite roofs, the composites having less depth and visual richness than Tuscan tile. The new buildings are void of extraneous detail with the notable exception of the doors, which are still very tall, ornate, some are arched. I'm getting my wish to see the countryside by train...

Here's another gypsy, this one leaving printed requests for money which she collects on her return run through (bowing mutely to those who donate to her cause). I'm amazed at seeing beggars on the trains, clean and not badly dressed, and wonder how many people ride the rails by either begging for fare or riding until they getting tossed off, only to hop onto the next train heading towards their destination...

I am very tired, but I feel much better now that I am on my way home. I arrive at SMN at the time my original ticket had me departing La Spezia. I consider that a win..

Traveler's notes: There's a station at Firenze Ridifi. Do Not Stop There. It's industrial and scary looking. Research your routes before you leave home, it would have been really good to have an understanding of the city bus systems. Print out everything you need. Do not depend on being able to access the internet here. Learn the language well enough to understand it. I've been able to ask questions in Italian, but I could rarely understand the answer. I did not buy a cell phone. I think it would have been useless with the language barrier.

I again defy common sense to hail a cab, and set out on foot, ending up in a part of town that is probabl not the best place to be at dusk. I need to eat. The first trattoria I find that I can read the menu is full and is no longer seating. A few blocks later I find one is nearly empty. I order prosciutto and melon and spaghetti with pesto, which was too starchy and salty. I tried to order a salad with this meal but the waiter told me I was ordering too much food. I was fairly jealous of the man at the table next to mine, who managed to get a side salad. I eat half of both dishes and order an expresso and fresh pineapple for dessert. I would have been happier with an American chef salad, I think.

When the waiter returns with my check, I point to my map and ask him to show me where I am. It turns out to be a very short distance from the Arno and very close to home. A walk over the Carrerra Bridge shows the addition of white beanbag chairs to the grove of trees set in huge white tote bags. Green installation art for the locals to laze on... The next bridge over, lights up. I get a decent photo of the church cathedral after several out-of-focus tries and adjusting the settings. I walk by the now familiar gelato shop on the corner, and the kitchen shop which today has a ceramic Majolica BBQ in the window. Hysterical!

Back home, some journaling and photo uploads to Facebook before tucking myself into my room for the night...

 

 

May 8 – Mother's Day in Firenze

I wake up at 6:30 AM, but roll over and try to go back to sleep. Forty-five minutes later, someone starts playing Spanish guitar in the lobby just outside my door.

There are worse ways to wake up on a Sunday morning : )

Today is 'everything breaks down' day. I have a cold but my blisters are less severe this morning after having soaked my feet in the bidet last night. Paint chips fall from the bathroom ceiling and shatter on the floor. A light fixture near the bed has pulled away from the wall and the other one no longer works. I pop coins into the vending machine for a bottle of water and something I was expecting to be yogurt, but was actually peach juice in a yogurt shaped container. Sadly, the coffee vending machine is out of order today.

I climb back into bed with my fluids and a protein bar from my stash, and catch up on my journal as Italia news and other programming flash across the TV. A home shopping network selling Iranian carpets (and something about 30th anniversary). I wish they would show more of the loom sitting in the corner of the studio set... Call Now! 800.82.82.44! Spongebob Squarepants dubbed in Italian. Italy's version of America's Got Talent. It's just as bad here as it is at home..

Five hours later....

My journal is caught up, and my feet have probably benefited from being elevated for the last several hours. It's time to find some food, and some coffee, and perhaps some flipflops...and a garden...

Sunday is a good down day here as most of the San Frediano district is closed. I had to cross the bridge to find food, and found a pizzeria, where I ordered a veggie which is slices of zucchini, carrot, bell pepper, potato, olives and portabella mushroom imbedded in a piece of focacia and drizzled with olive oil. There's actually a potato pizza here...

I am feeling well enough to take a walk along the Arno, and discover I've been mislabeling bridges. The Ponte Vespucci is actually between Pontes Carrerra and the Vechio. Oh brother! I walk up to the Ponte Vecchio to look at gold I cannot afford. On my way I find Signum, a great little shop with handmade journals, sealing wax, and Florentine papers. I buy myself a pocket calligraphy pen and a multi nub pen that is used to draw scales when you are writing music. Very ingenious... (Signum, Lungarno Archibusieri 14r, Borgo degli albizi 54r, Borgo de'Greci 40r, Via de'Benci 29r-31r, 50122 Firenze Italy, www.signumfirenze.it)

In spite of it being Mother's Day, the city isn't horribly crowded and I get some decent shots of the various apparti that constitutes the storefront shutters. One of the locks was stainless steel but of Chinese design.

I weave through the street and up to the Loggia where the market is. Everyone sells variants of the same leather bags, scarves, t-shirts and leather folio covers. It's worth a walk through just to rub the snout of the Boar Fountain (to assure your return here, according to local legend) and to take in the smell of booth after booth of leather goods.

I'm starting to fade already, 2 hours is about all I can stand now. I'm really going to have to pace myself in Turkey and take frequent and lengthy breaks. I cannot find flip flops and I don't want to pay EU60 for leather sandals. I'm also not sure flip-flops are the best idea either since I've got a torn tendon in my foot. I also feel like I may have a mildly sprained ankle...

Some building on some corner is full of bikes. You Must Be Kidding! I don't know if they are replicas of antiques or if this is an art installation, but the book I bought seems to indicate that they are based on historical models. A L'arrotino (a knife sharpener). A Barbiere (a barber's bike with its chest of shaving implements). A Bottaro, with wine kegs over both fenders. A Calzolaio (a cobbler). A Cantastorie, with a hurdy gurdy strapped to the front. A Cardalana-il Matreassaio, appears to be a carpenter or surveyor. A Contadino with a cotton gin. A Fotografo, with a box of samples of his portrait work. A Pompiere, probaby my favorite, a fire bicycle. A Postino (the mailman). A Prete in strada for the local clergy, complete with censure and vestments. A Venditore di sale (a modern day tabacchi, where you now buy smokes and postage stamps). And a Trasporto-feriti (an ambulance). By the time I have finished my walk through I'm laughing so hard I'm crying...

The next stumbled upon site is the Palazzo Vecchio. The ground floor is a public area and covered with some of the most amazing archways in the city. Travelers take heed...Do Not Photograph the Polizia in Firenze! My request was answered verbally with a curt no, the physical and facial expressions indicated a sentiment of greater intensity....whenever they spotted a tourist with a camera, they would quickly turn away to avoid being photographed. I will now treasure the shots I have of the polizia in Genova...

The Uffizi is hosting an exhibit of the works of DaVinci and the lines are around the block. I look up to notice a guy dressed as a cherub on the steps, posing for pictures. He's only the first... the next one is dressed as an Egyptian sarcophagi, the one after that a statue from the Duomo. I pose with him for a photo, and the crowd starts to gather and giggle, and while the tourist is trying to figure out my camera, I feel a rustle of cloth and turn to find that the living statue has slowly moved towards me to provide a better photograph. It was really fun to get my camera back, not with one shot, but a sequence of shots... the statue was very friendly and unwilling to let go of my hand but I finally made my escape. Here are additional shots of the Palazzo Veccio and the sequence of living statuary.

The last living statue was DaVinci himself, who, after I deposited a coin in his can, motioned for me to approach. He pulled out of his book three squares of paper, Il codice da Vinci dell Economia, (For a new constitutional order in the contemporary democratic revolutions). Check out www.creditosociale.blogspot.com and www.facebook.com/valter.conti. I walk back along the row of statuary for a last look, and laugh as I see the woman who followed after me to pose with the Duomo statue is also having a little trouble retrieving her hand from his affectionate grip...

This part of the city has a number of cutaways in the stucco to expose more ancient parts of the building, an architectural feature that's a fascinating way to preserve the history of a building.

I stop at a mini-grocer to buy some fruit and water, and head back to the San Frediano where I spend the remainder of the day, foregoing dinner for the comfort of a bed covered with books...

 

May 9 – The Museo Galileo and a Medici Palace

In spite of the very low key day yesterday, I didn't get to bed until after midnight. My sleep was very fitful and filled with panic attacks that were very physical. The guests in the next room started their noisy tromping-down-hallway exits at 5 AM. I finally get up at 7 AM, to find that the worst of my cold symptoms are gone, perhaps that accounts for the fitful sleep. But in spite of the day of rest yesterday, my feet are going to remain problematic today.

I missed both the Iris Garden and Galileo's house when I took the bus back from the Piazza Michelangelo, but I don't have enough energy to make that trek again today. My original plan was to go to Lucca today, a 15th century fortified city about an hour away by train, but I decide against that as well. I've missed a few things but having a flexible schedule has been a fair trade. Today my destination is Galileo’s Science Museum. I'm still shopping for Mom, and I want to get some postcards out before I leave Firenze. I have not yet found a post box, and postage has been an issue as the tabacci (tobacco store) only sell 5 stamps at a time.

Breakfast this morning is caffe ginseng, granola and an apple from yesterday's grocery store run. I am on a quest for vegetables today, and protein in any form. I think I've had about as many versions of focaccia as I can stand.

My first stop is a farmica (pharmacy) for more flex bandages, and another box of 'Compeeds', a sort of cushioned moleskin for pressure points, obviously designed for women who wear stilettos. I think I've spent close to EU20 on bandages so far, but its a small price to pay for the experiences these aching feet have led me to...

A bank machine for dinner money and tomorrow's cab fare, and then I follow the Arno Fiume to the Galileo Museum. I look for the sign I saw yesterday but cannot find today. So I pull my map out of my purse. The map for Genoa. Not so useful in Florence... It is a very rare and fortunate day today that I also grabbed my Rick Steves guidebook before leaving my hotel room this morning. Yay me!

The Museo Galileo is housed in the Palazzo Castellani, an 11th century castle and one of the oldest buildings in the city. Many of the early works were collected by Cosimo Medici I in the 1500's and were originally housed what is now the Maps Room. Two globes, one a planetary globe and the other a star chart, measuring 4 meters around, were originally designed to be suspended from the ceiling. The collection was moved to the Uffizi in about 1600, and then to the Pitti Palace with the founding of the Accademia del Cimento in 1657. The collection was moved to its current location in 1930.

This museum does not allow cameras and asks you to lock up your bags. It's really nice to carry nothing more than a pen and pad, but oh, so very sad to not be allowed to take pictures here. I have scanned photos from the catalog. It's a science student's heaven on earth...

The first cases I see upon entering the museum are labeled as “a sampling of the thousands of items not on display” which includes a 19th century opticians case, many beautiful 16th-19th century clocks, most of which are designed to hand from a chain, pendulum style. One has a small globe on top. A hydrochronometer (a water clock). I endeavor to write things down that may not show up in the catalog so I can find information about them online.

There are wide screen video monitors scattered throughout the museum, which are well worth watching. The first one shows an astrolabe being disassembled and then demonstrates how it was used. I learned that the squiggly overlay on the face of many brass astrolabes is actually a star chart. The case had a variety of astrolabes including a Dutch one dated 1483 and a few from Arabia circa 12th-14th centuries.

Here's a showcase containing an oil clock. And a 17th century perpetual calendar. Another astrolabe, this one with three interchangeable paper faces.

The next room is completely and utterly dominated by a huge armillary sphere, created by Antonio Santucci (cosmographer 1588) and based on a Ptolmaic model of the universe. The sphere must be 12 feet in diameter... Ptolemy's Geography (2nd century AD) was a founding text of geography which was rediscovered in Florence during the 14th century, and which apparently launched extensive study in that field...

The room with the maps and globes is amazing, and includes a video on how the globes were made! Five graduated wooden disks were skewered by a central wooden dowel, and then covered with lathe as though you were building a barrel. The surface was canvas and plaster-mached, and then smoothed by being spun against a curved rule which was also used to mark the Arctic, Tropic of Cancer, Equator, Tropic of Capricorn and the Antarctic. The paper map, which is drawn in gores and having a geometry all its own (and which was also detailed on the video), is cut out and glued to the plastered surface. It gave me a whole new appreciation for the rest of the pieces in this room.

A theodolite, used to calculate angles for fortifications with irregular parameters. A compass and altimer that were used in perspective drawing at a time when art and science were joined together during the renaissance. A daggar compass, demonstrating the move of mathmatics from the art of science, to the art of war. Soldiers during the 16th century were expected to have a working knowledge in arithmetic, geometry, surveying, perspective, mechanics and military architecture. No fools they... And I saw a Jovilabe, used to find the position of Jupiter's moons in relation the earth and the sun. A round disc set in a rectangular bed. Captain Sparrow's map in Pirates bears a striking resemblance to it...

The next room is a case of clear glass pieces...plates, vials, bubble stick thermometers, something in the shape of a crab...

The next room contains Leopold's chemistry cabinet (Banco Chineo). When closed, it looks like a trunk about the size of a VW bug. When open, it reveals a slate work surface with a hole in the center for a brazier, a foot-operated bellows underneath, a brass melting oven. Among the vials in the many cabinets and drawers is one filled with phosphorus, collected by Leopold himself from the urine of the soldiers stationed at the Belvedere Fort. This room also includes several cases of 18th century obstetrical models in both terra-cotta and wax, demonstrating every conceivable form of fetal position prior to delivery, some showing where to position forceps. I can only imagine how many of these models were based on women and children who did not survive childbirth...

On to the more modern parts of the museum covering experiments in electricity, which during the 18th century was a very popular subject for both scientists and lay persons alike. Electric soirees were held, where presenters would show in dramatic fashion the effects of electricity on the bodies of their audience, including shock, spark, attraction and repulsion. A quote on the wall of this room states: “...and electricity took place of the quadrille” (Gentleman's Magazine, 1745).

I am very disappointed that the gift shop does not have a single reproduction of any of the instruments in the museum. I browse the books for a catalog, passing by many books I would have liked to have taken away with me were my luggage large enough...

Back onto the street, I walk up and down the endless line of vendors, duplicating those in the loggia with their offerings of leathers, pashminas, Venetian masks and souvenirs. I finally find a pair of flip flops for EU5 and buy a pair. My size 8.5 foot takes a size 40 shoe. My blisters are now thanking me, but I am now walking very slowly to avoid doing structural damage to feet which are used to more supportive footwear.

I make the obligatory pilgrimage to the Duomo Piazza, and a fellow traveler obliges me with this year's portrait at the Pisano doors of the Baptistry. I finally find a book on Donatello at the Duomo gift shop, but now I am in search of one for Cellini (the sculptor of the Perseus in the Logia). Back onto the street. Roman style samdals and wide low slung belts over skin tight jeans are the fashion in Firenze this season. I sit on steps across from the Duomo and at long last write postcards. I am, after a short time, surrounded by a German tour group who has no sense of personal space. I stop at two more tabaccis in order to buy enough stamps. The cost to mail a single postcard from Italy to the US is EU1.60.

I finally figure out where to eat here, and have my second meal for the day in a self serve cafeteria. It's a misnomer as nothing here is actually Self Serve, the term refers to pre-plated, ready to go food. Lunch was a caprese salad with lovely fresh mozzarella, my only choice of salad that was not topped with canned corn. My early dinner at the Caffe Mokario in the Duomo Piazza is salmon with grilled potatoes and zucchini. Just the right amount of food for about a third the cost of a much larger meal (which I cannot finish) in a Trattoria or Osteria. Cafeterias are also much lighter and airier, and not as 'cafeteria-like' as they are in the US. I'm eating the best salmon in Italy that I have ever had, mild tasting with texture like bread pudding... today was a successful “no foccasia, no gelato” day.

It's still early enough that I have time to tour one of the Medici palaces and chapels that I missed the last time I was in Firenze.

The Chapel of the Magi at Palazzo Medici

This is one of the most intimate Medici residences I have visited, and its chapel laid at the heart of the family's devotions. The fresco in the entrance of this chapel brought me to tears almost immediately...it's "The Journey of the Magi", among my favorites for its color, subject mater and intricate detail, and I never dreamed to see it outside of an art book. And yet, here I am, just inches from it...trying to soak as much of it in with my eyes as cameras are forbidden here, and resisting the urge to leave my fingerprint on it. Cameras are allowed in the other rooms which comprise the actual residence. The ceilings. The CEILINGS. To wake up every day under such ceilings. I may have to scrape the popcorn off my ceiling and find a fresco artist in Seattle...

At the end of this exhibit there is this fabulous interactive display. You walk up a circular ramp and are directed to 'place your toes on the line on the floor'. The docent flips a switch, and the entire Magi Fresco flashes up in front of you on an IMAX style screen. You physically point to areas on the screen, which then zoom in and provide text detail. It's a good thing I was the only one there as I probably stood there pointing and reading for about 45 minutes... Here are a few shots of the fresco and the building that houses it.

It's now around 5PM, time to go home. I had commented to myself earlier that I didn't seem to get lost when I had no place in particular to go. But add a destination, and even the most straightforward path becomes a long meandering tour of the city. I was not this lost the last time I was here, and cannot help but laugh when, after asking for directions from a young mother, who points me in the wrong direction, I look up to find myself in a place I was lost in only a few days earlier.

I stop in a bakery for something sweet and buy a small tray of what looks like shortbreads. A little further along, a car whips past and blows the sack from my hand, which I retrieve just seconds before it (and I) are nearly run over by the car that followed. Geez... I shake my head and laugh some more. What else to do? At least my feet are happier on this unexpected trek. I pass a EuroMarket (dollar store) and an 85 cent shop. Across the street is a thrift store which I would like to stop in at but its late and I cannot carry any more than I already have. I stop for some fresh strawberries, about 12 ounces for a euro.

I am finally back at the hotel, where I am now using the lift instead of the stairs. I grab my laundry and my netbook and head to the laudromat across the street. Tokens to run the machines are EU3.50 per token, one to wash, one to dry. Another American group arrives at the hotel when I return. Their room is right next to mine and they holler and whistle and cavort well into the night. I take advantage of what would be a sleepless night anyway, to finish sorting photos into folders and getting everything backed up to Facebook and Hotmail. I had heard that sometimes laptops and cameras are confiscated at customs, and I still haven't decided if I want to risk mailing my discs back or just bury them in my luggage. But it's not really worth the brain space today as 98% of my photos are now online. I still need to catch up on a growing pile of receipts...

May 10 – Final day in Firenze

The rowdy crowd that howled and whistled until 2 AM last night is departing like the noisy herd of elephants one would expect. Their behavior brings back memories of my final night the last time I was in Firenze, with the half dozen Italians with their wine bottles filling the common area just outside my door with clatter and chatter at 3 AM. Florence is a very noisy city.

It's 8 AM. I wake up really tired and grouchy. Again. But I bound out of bed, throw on jeans and a sweater and run across the street to mail postcards. I finally spotted the red postal box yesterday, with its grafitti camouflage, just steps away from the front door of my temporary home. I decide to take a short walk to get away from the English language voices and head towards a nearby church. It's rush hour, another universal truth, complete with standing-room only on the buses and general pandemonium as bikes both motorized and not, take their chances in squeezing between the bus and the curb to try to outwit traffic. A bicyclist chooses badly and almost crashes in front of me.

I am nearly run over on what I think is a plaza but is actually a thoroughfare. I Must Look Everywhere! The church steps are shaded but the sun is hitting the dome of a church a few blocks away. I watch a red three-wheeled flatbed truck pull into a construction site to my right. It looks like an oversized trycycle. Church bells start, traffic dies down to a duller roar.

I'm really glad I did laundry last night, as spending today in a laundromat would probably not improve my mood. I stop at a tabacci bar for my caffe ginseng fix, which after a week I still fail to pronounce correctly. The front page news this morning (and headlined on a continuous loop on the TV news as well) detail the death of a cyclist, apparently the front runner in whatever race was occurring yesterday. He appears to have been hit by a car, and the report takes the breath away from the newscaster who is reporting on the tragedy. Back at home, I find that I forgot to charge my laptop and camera last night, so it will be awhile before I can check tomorrow's flight and order a taxi. Breakfast in my room is granola and strawberries while I upload photos for the next two hours. I finally get out into the city at noon.

Its supposed to get up to 80 degrees today. I think I will look for Galileo's house and check out an exhibit at the Palazzo Pitti called “1900's Seduced.” I finally find the address for Galileo's house, which is now a wine bar. Strike 1. Tthe "1900's Seduction - an Exhibit of Modern Paint in Medieval Style" isn't actually at the Pitti, even though the palace grounds are covered with banners that would lead me to believe otherwise. It's at some other place I don't have a hope of finding, and now I don't even want to look for. Strike 2.

So I take a walk to avert the potential of a Strike 3...

I buy lunch at the neighborhood grocer, poppyseed focaccia, apricots, a banana, a yogurt and a water, for a mere EU2.03! I walk back up the hill towards the Piazza Michelangelo although I don't plan to walk that far today. This is a really nice, shaded, and quiet residential neighborhood. I start looking for a garden or a park to eat lunch in and read the paper.

I stop halfway up the hill when I see an opening in the wall. What??? This is absolutely unbelievable...

I have stumbled into the Villa Bardini, host of the “1900's Seduction” Exhibit... (for which, unfortunately, I have no pictures or catalog...)

I walk a little further up the hill and find an overgrown abandoned stone step, where I stop for lunch. I fashion the foil yougurt cap into a spoon and have a very pleasant picnic outside what I would later discover is the Barbini Garden, and a wall to the Belvedere Castle.

Th "1900's Seduction" is a small but really great collection of oils, painted by Italian artists from the 1920-40's, emulating the style, and sometimes the subject matter of Renaissance painters like Caravaggio. I would not have appreciated the pieces quite so much had I not watched the introductory video in one of the small lecture rooms prior to walking through the exhibit.

The Barbini has a very clever system... the lights in each exhibit room are on motion sensors and don't turn on until you are well into the room. Quite unexpectedly, the first room is a multicolored dress, with no explanation. And no case or attendants. Deciding to chance it, I whip out my camera...

The next room I walk into illuminates the first room of the Novecento Sedotto exhibit, for which cameras are also disallowed. I need to look for Sleeping Venus by Carlo Socrate (1921) with it's boy angel in the corner with blue feathered wings. The Quarrymen by Bacci. Witches by Pietro Annigoni. Bacchus at the Tavern (Bacco in osteria) by Gregorio Sciltian (1936). It's a very small exhibit and my ticket is good for another exhibit upstairs.

Between the last gallery and the elevator, I find a nice view out the window, and when I start to take photos through the glass door, the docent comes up and opens the door and lets me out onto the third floor landing. The panoramic view of the city is absolutely spectacular, and I think this is where they shoot the cityscape for the postcards of the Duomo. It makes any trip to the Piazza Michelangelo Plaza a complete waste of time.

After I fill my eyes and my camera, I take the elevator upstairs to see what other paint awaits.

But it's not paint. Not PAINT.... ! ! ! It's rooms filled with Roberto Capucci dresses! ! !

The Roberto Capucci Exhibit

Textiles and dresses that are beyond my ability to describe. Stop reading now and go directly to my photo gallery. Once again there is no exhibit catalog, and the only book here is a compendium of his works that I had neither the money to buy it with or the space to pack it in. I buy a copy of every postcard they have.

And as if I wasn't already dazed enough, as I am leaving the bookstore, the cashier hands me a map for the Bardini Gardens, which is included in the price of the museum ticket...

I turn to find an American couple who has just come in, looking for a map. Thinking I am at the northern most end of the Boboli Garden, I tell them to just follow the signs and they would be fine. “It's a great garden, have an excellent time.” Outside they ask me to orient them to their map, but I say that I've never been to this part of the garden before. The woman returns after a minute or two and offers to take my picture, so I pose by one of the marble lion fountains. It's one of the best portraits of the trip.

I treat myself to an eggplant and tomato sandwich and an expresso at the Kaffehaus, and admire up close the corbelling I've been shooting from street level at every opportunity. A marble tub along the wall that might date back to Roman era, supported by two lions. I think this is where many of the Duomo postcards are shot from. I'm pretty sure I'm over my cold but my sinuses are a wreck. It's been pretty breezy for the last couple of days.

I take a very leisurely stroll along the garden which borders the wall of the Belvedere Fortress, through a wisteria arbor not yet in bloom. I pass some fairly ugly and roughly done sculpture, and pause for awhile at the Dragon Canal with its 19th century Anglo-Chinese elements and a lion fountain. It's turned into a very pleasant afternoon. I walk down a path that leads to the Boboli Garden but I don't want to pay again to get in, so I backtrack my path, which leads me to an eye-level model of the terracotta roof tiles that are so prevalent here, which shows me how the tiles are cemented in place. I think I've got enough architectural elements to set up an entire photo album...

I am asked by another American couple for directions, whom I oblige and also offer recommendations of the Bardini Garden over that of the Boboli. The irony does not escape me that I am giving directions to someone after having been lost myself here for much of this week...

My visit to Firenze has come full circle, and I end it as I began...in a garden... which you can view pictures of here.

I spend my last evening in Florence walking along the Arno Fiume at sunset. Back in my room, I sort receipts and spend a tedious night posting pictures to Facebook. A variety of glitches make the task even more tedious than it already is. But I must remain disciplined and the backup succeeds in spite of itself. I finish packing.

It's another sleepless night as I watch my watch so I don't oversleep. I make a mental note to buy a travel alarm before my next trip...

Tomorrow I will be in Istanbul. I can only dream of what awaits me there...