The coffee was made. The bacon was fried and I was ready to scramble the eggs when I woke Cheryl. She had been not so happy when I suggested renting the house instead of staying in a hotel. "This is suppose to be a vacation and you want me to prepare meals?" had been her response. I told her we would eat lunch and dinner out every day and that I would do breakfast. With a sideways look she had agreed.
At eight o’clock we boarded the train for Florence. The first tour that morning at ten o’clock was for the Accademia Gallery. Before leaving Las Vegas I had gone to Caesar’s Place to take a look at the replica they had of Michelangelo’s David. I wanted to compare it to original housed here. While the one at Caesar’s was a full scale it didn’t compare. Standing there with my eyes looking upon a piece of art that had been done by the hand of Michelangelo himself, there was just no comparison. I had the same feeling when in the Louvre I viewed the Mona Lisa. Both were magnificent.
The remainder of the art left on the tour was great. It spoke to me the way I had always referred to any type of art that I really enjoyed. My only problem was that we had seen the David before most the other art, that sculpture did much more than speak, it spoke in volumes.
At the end of the tour we were allowed to enter the Accademia di Belle Arti. The history of this place was wonderful. Built by Cosimo I de’ Medici in 1563, not only did it house a gallery for displaying one’s art, it was a center for aspiring artist.
Had I not been a twenty year old, looking for not much more that a beer and a woman back in 1959 when the Navy brought me this part of the world, I could have taken advantage of some of this and been able to share what I had seen with my fellow students in the few humanities classes I had taken. For the first time I regretted being seventy-five years old. I was quite certain none of our children would be interested in how I felt viewing this art. The oldest grandchildren were old enough to have develop their own interest. The youngest grandchildren and the great-grandchildren, ages infant to four, may someday enjoying hearing me talk, that is if I lived long enough.
After a late lunch at one of the sidewalk cafes, we just walked around the streets of Florence. We strolled through some of the smaller museums which contained some work of lesser artist yet were great works in their own right. That evening we dined at the II Latini restaurant. While I have never been a great fan of the Olive Garden or any Italian food for that matter, this place made all the place I tried at home to be fast food. And the wine the waiter suggested we have with our dinner, wow. I was certainly glad we had decided to take the train instead of driving.
On the walk back to the train station I told Cheryl was really glad we had scheduled the tours for every other day. I was certainly going to need a day of laying on the beach and soaking up some that Italian Rivera sun. Also, if she wanted me to cook breakfast, it would be a late breakfast. Not surprising she was in full agreement.
The next morning we both sleep late. We decided that instead of cooking breakfast we would don our swim-wear and find a place where they would serve us. After breakfast were took a short swim and then spread our towels and enjoyed the sun while reminiscing about the art we had seen yesterday.
Cheryl ask me to again tell her why I was so fascinated with Florence. She was enjoying it but we had left Paris after only hitting the highlights. Rome was just down the road and here we were, renting a house for fourteen day in Livorno and spending most of the time in Florence. The answer was simple: Dan Brown’s "Inferno." Explaining that was a horse of a different color.
Where to start? First there were the humanity and western civilization classes. In both we had studied how Florence had been the center of the Italian Renaissance. Florence was the home of the Medici family who had been bankers in the 14th century. How they had became one of the most powerful economical and political dynasties of the time. How they had been the architects of the city much as we see it today. Their rise to power for a second time in 1512 and the methods used were the inspiration for Machiavelli’s masterpiece "The Prince." This book is where the term "Machiavellian," meaning "the end justifies the means," was derived.
Florence is, also, where the sculptor and painter, Michelangelo had done that magnificent sculptor of David that we had viewed yesterday. I tried to convoy to her just what I had felt standing in front of such a piece of art. It was just impossible to describe to anyone what that felling was.
Reading Dan Brown’s book had awakened my appreciation of renaissance art, but it had been put aside, knowing I would never be able to view it in person. Then we won the PowerBall and I knew I had to see Florence, the epic center of such rebirth.
The next day we, again, took the train to Florence. Today we had booked a tour of the Uffizi Gallery. There we saw Botticelli’s Primavera, sometimes depicted as a very controversial painting. Personally I believe it be nothing more than Botticelli’s appreciation of the human form.
Another painting which I feel would find controversy in the United States is Titian’s Venus of Urbino. While viewing it, I commented to Cheryl that the Evangelicals and Puritans in the United State are extremely caught up in the theory of Creation, yet have no appreciation for what they consider God’s greatest creation, the human form. Why no appreciation? They demand it be covered except on a few number of occasions.
Then there was Giotto’s Ognissanti, da Vinci’s The Annunciation, Raphael’s Modanna of the Goldfinch. When we reach Caravaggio’s I took on look at his Medusa, and wondered who had been the model for the face. "Is this something of a self portrait?" I ask myself.
After the tour we lunched near the Ponte Vecchio, which is bridge over the river Arno. In Italian the Arno river is called Fiume Arno. I really enjoy how Italian and Spainish puts the adjective after the subject.
Then we visited the Basilica of Santa Maria del Fiore, better known as the Duomo. In English it translates to Basilica of Saint Mary of the Flower. And a flower it is. I have a sister that lives next door to a Basilica in Asheville, North Carolina. Though not Catholic, she does take pride in the Basilica and had taken personal action to protect it. I just wish she was here to see this one which took a 140 years to complete. And again, as with Notre Dame, it was done without computers.
For dinner we made a conscious effort no to eat so much heavy food, which is hard to do in an Italian restaurant.
The next day we drove up to Pisa to visit the Leaning Tower. I found the view to be lacking. While I completely understand why all the stabilization is necessary, I enjoy the pictures which remove all the cables.
After leaving Pisa, we spent hours driving around the countryside of Tuscany. While I had never done a study on Tuscany, I had picked up bits and pieces of information here and there. Let me tell you, it was much more beautiful than I had imagined. When I ask Cheryl if she would like to live in a place like this, her answer was: "If we can take it back to America."
While having a late dinner in Livorno, Cheryl confessed she was beginning to get a little homesick.
The next day we returned to Livorno immediately after we finished the tour of the Bargello. After lunch I went to the rental office and spoke with Miss Baldovini about selling the SUV. Immediately she said that her boss just might be interested. When I spoke with him we reached a deal; I would sign the vehicle over to him the day before we took the train to Rome for the flight home.
Once we checked the train schedule to Naples we knew that there would not be enough time to fully enjoy it. It was a five hour trip to Naples and a twelve hour trip back. Naples, the same as Paris and Spain would be a saver.
Instead of Naples we chose to see more of the Tuscany countryside. Over lunch at a neat little café in a small hamlet south of Siena, Cheryl said she needed to unburden her conscious.
"Don’t talk, just listen. I’m really enjoying this. The wines are great and learning about the history of Florence is fascinating. But, about my homesickness. You know I’m not the one to be obsessed with the children. I can live thousands of miles from them. Now, it’s just that I’ve had an ocean between me and them for long enough. Let’s forget about the last few days on the house and spend three nights in Rome and fly home."
It was easy to tell she was torn between continuing in Europe or reconnecting with the roots of home. When we finished lunch we returned to Livorno. After packing I went to the rental office and settled up with Miss Baldovini’s boss. He gave me sixty-five percent of what I had paid for the SUV. This turned out to be better than what I could have done with a rental car.
The next morning we took the train to Rome. Cheryl had made reservations at a hotel while I was at the rental office. Once we had checked in we order wine some apple and cheese and just kicked back on the balcony and just enjoyed doing nothing for the rest of the day.
Though we were going to be here for three nights, Cheryl had come alive again. I had been so caught up in seeing the places and art of things that I had read about I had not noticed she was beginning to enjoy it less and less. Now that she knew four days later we would be on a flight home, she was re-energized.
The afternoon and evening of doing nothing proved valuable the next as we visited the Vatican. The Sistine Chapel was almost over whelming. I knew they had cleaned the ceiling of all the scut the candles had created. I had done some comparing on line between the before and after and was glad I had missed seeing only the before. It astonished me that Michelangelo, being under the pressure placed on him by Pope Julius II and lying on his back could still be so creative. Though I knew very well that taking picture were not allowed, the flash of cameras damage the art, I was disappointed.
After the chapel we went to the museum. As we entered I recalled to Cheryl how Robert Langdon had committed in Angles and Demons that a former Pope had decided that the male genitalia should not be displayed. Thus he had removed them from all the statues in the museum with a hammer and chisel, replacing them with fig leaves. Sure enough all male statues had fig leaves where genitalia should have been. Thank goodness he miss the David. I, again, told Cheryl how much it bothered me that those so insistent on promoting the theory of the Creation was ashamed of the greatest creation of all, the human form.
When we entered Saint Peter’s Basilica I was drown to the Chapel of the Pieta. Standing in front of the Pieta I had the same electric feeling I had standing before Michelangelo’s other masterpiece, the David. I had seen may replicas of varying scales, but standing this close to master’s hand was again breathtaking. As with the David, I wanted to touch it, study if from every possible angle. Though Cheryl had promise to return with me to do the savers, I had a feeling I would never again be able to be this close to such art.
That night at dinner I refused any wine. I was so exhausted I wasn’t sure a glass of wine wouldn’t put me to sleep sitting there at the table. On the way to the room, we stopped by the Consigliere’s desk for a map of the sites of Rome. We were, also, given our tickets and information concerning our noon flight home the day after tomorrow. Back in the room Cheryl opened the map and informed me we had more savers.
The next day we began our tour with the Colosseum. Sometimes it’s amazing how beautiful ruins can be. For some crazy reason its beauty wasn’t the only thing I saw. There was Kirk Douglas and Russell Crowe as gladiators. From there we went to the Roman Forum. Shakespear, Marlon Brando, Marc Anthony and his great speech, they were all there.
Seeing these historic sites and reflecting only on movies, I knew the adrenalin was leaving me. Yesterday at the Vatican had depleted well. I told Cheryl that I wanted to see one more site, a fountain that was perhaps the most famous in the world and I wanted to see it at night.
Back at the hotel rested and then packed. After dinner that evening we took a cab to the Trevi Fountain. We spent over an hour just appreciating the art. Cheryl took as many picture as she liked. I thought she just might use up the eight giga bite card she was using. Though I greatly appreciated the sculpture and artistic value, I did have to connect to one more movie. I threw three coins into the fountain as we left.
At noon the next day we boarded the plane for home. I’m sure I was asleep as soon as the plane reached altitude.
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