Post II
So following an interlude of re-nesting in Anghiari, we headed back to Florence, this time driving all the way so that we could make a quick visit to Montebeni where Terry had lived as a student. The tiny, two street hamlet sits atop a hill a short distance from Florence and remains today the quiet and intimate place Terry knew. But in the time since he was there, the village has attracted a new, wealthier population who live in upscale houses along the main street. Now there is a fine restaurant in what might be called the center, if there were actually a center, but on this day it was closed, denying us the opportunity to linger in Montebeni over lunch.
Driving across the hills to Fiesole, we planned to find a place to eat before driving to Florence. Fiesole is a popular destination for tourists and second home owners and I looked forward to exploring what I anticipated would be an exceptionally attractive small town. At mid-day, though, it was crowded with lunch goers and we found neither a parking spot nor a restaurant that wasn’t already filled. We circled the main piazza several times before giving up and decided to turn up a steep and very narrow street leading, we hoped, to better prospects. Instead, we met a car coming from the opposite direction and with no room for both cars, our only choice was to back down to the bottom of the hill. Terry put the car in reverse and edged slowly down, looking over his shoulder at the road and walls on each side. I grasped the door for security and monitored the wall sliding by my passenger side window, warning Terry whenever we got too close. Greatly relieved when we finally came to the end of the street, we decided we had seen enough of Fiesole.
As we drove toward Florence, I realized after a short time that we were actually in Florence. No obvious boundary or change in appearance separated the two–Fiesole simply morphed into Florence. Navigating the one way streets, we found a parking garage where we could leave the car for the remaining time we would be in Florence. We unloaded the extra baggage we had brought along, leashed the two dogs and headed back to our apartment on Piazza Santa Croce.
The piazza, even in September, filled daily with post summer tourists arriving by 8:00 a.m. to meet their guides. Along with seeing the sights, the opportunity to shop was clearly on their minds; most tourists returned at the end of their tour carrying bags bearing logos and filled with merchandise. Throughout the day, additional tour groups continued to arrive until late afternoon when the night people began to appear. Buskers and people hawking souvenirs replaced kiosks, hoping to earn a few Euros from the lingering crowd.
Most mornings, the dogs and I fielded early arrivals in the piazza to walk along the nearby Arno, where there were no crowds, just a few dog walkers and runners getting their daily exercise. Yes, there was quietude in Florence, if you knew when and where to find it. With a good walk behind them the dogs were ready to snooze so Terry and I could leave them on their own while we went out to explore.
Terry was first of all anxious to revisit the San Marco monastery where Fra Angelico’s famous “Annunciation” is on display. Angelico’s fresco is a featured work in any class on Renaissance art but, of course, seen only in a slide. As in all cases, seeing the actual work is a dive into detail that isn’t apparent in a photograph.
The fresco’s placement at the top of stairs leading to the upper level of the monastery, is well conceived to make the greatest impact. Without other viewers to crowd the space, we could stand close enough to see details apparent only in such close proximity. The extravagantly rendered right wing of the angel Gabriel alone invites a long, appreciative study. Flecks of gold, not visible in any photograph I had ever seen, highlighted the colored feathers calling out, “heaven sent.” Other paintings by the master and his students line the corridors of the monastery and, though all fine, none compared with this major work of art.
Of all the prospects before us we most eagerly looked forward to visiting the Uffizi Gallery, probably the foremost repository of Renaissance art in Florence. For us, the major draw was to see Botticelli’s paintings, which Terry and I both particularly liked for their delicate linearity and exquisite detail. Sandro Botticelli was an early Renaissance artist (1445-1510) whose art often referenced mythological themes. His “Birth of Venus,” is generally acknowledge to be his most famous work, but our favorite is “Spring,” or “Primavera.” The figure of “Spring” is often seen as a detail from the painting, isolated as a single figure.
If the full painting is a marvel of composition and mysterious allusions to mythology, the detail shows the beauty of Botticelli’s delicate technique. People crowd this and other Botticelli works in the Uffizi, reluctant to step away and leave the experience behind.
One work that captivated both Terry and myself was an unfinished domestic scene, unlike any Botticelli we had ever seen. In the end, I was left wondering how much Botticelli was really in the painting, and suspecting that it had been executed primarily by students. Alternatively, was it a late manifestation of a new direction Botticelli had taken? My inclination is that it was the former.
Finally, as to major sites not to be missed, was Fort Belvedere. The fort lies high on a hill rising from the south bank of the Arno. While it was originally a fortification for the protection of Florence, today it is used for the exhibition of contemporary art, partly permanent works, but perhaps more importantly, large outdoor exhibits. Some have been stunning and Terry still regrets having missed a Henry Moore show that took place there during his early time in Italy. The day we visited, I was not so much appreciative as bemused by the larger than life musk oxen (or buffalo?) scattered through the outdoor spaces.
Virtually everyone, whether fans of contemporary art or not, praise the view of Florence from the edge of the fort.
After walking down the hill from Fort Belvedere, we ended our day on the south side of the Arno at a small outdoor cafe where we enjoyed a spremuta, a generous glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. It was quiet and peaceful there, unlike the busy streets of Florence across the river and we relaxed for a while appreciating the difference.
Inevitably, the day of our departure arrived. Florence had been a fabulous treat but we did look forward to being back in Anghiari. We packed our large suitcase and the grocery trolley, slung extra bags over handles of the wheeled luggage, leashed up our dogs and went off to the taxi stop to catch a ride to the parking garage. And then watched taxi after taxi go by, all occupied and none stopping to pick up any of the hopeful crowd waiting with us. Oh yes, how could we forgotten? There was a transportation strike throughout Italy today and everyone who would normally be on a bus or train was using a taxi instead.
So we would have to walk to the parking garage, quite a few city blocks away but with no choice, off we went merging into an even larger than usual crowd. And again, how could we have forgotten? This was Friday, “Friday for Future” day and all of Florence it seemed had turned out to protest the failure to deal with climate change. Schools had closed to allow students to demonstrate and many did, though some chose to spend their time off in a cafe. Adults, too, banded together to march through the streets in support of Greta Thunberg’s call to action. However much we embraced the cause, walking through the shoulder to shoulder mob with all of our baggage and two dogs was a challenge we would rather have avoided.
Terry led the way, stopping periodically to wait for the dogs and me to catch up, then starting off again. I followed, pulling the grocery trolley that tipped and turned as we worked our way across the cobblestones, and the new peach-colored purse slid down the handle to bump along the street. The dogs pulled frantically this way and that, trying to avoid being stepped on and generally agitated by the chaos. Finally, though the trek seemed endless, our little circus arrived at the parking garage, a bit frazzled but this, at least, seemed like relative peace.
And soon, real peace was ours as we settled back into our Anghiari home. With the allowed three months in Italy nearly over, we had a mere two weeks to enjoy time there before leaving for Serbia. Meanwhile we had to meet with the team we had hired to build a closet in our dressing room and correct some design problems in the kitchen. Our medieval house had virtually no straight walls, but these workers were familiar with such problems and we could depend on them to construct a workable and attractive solution.
Lurching towards Italy 