Wine-Covered Hills and Seas of Tourists

Tourist hordes in Florence

In the second week of our trip to Italy we made excursions to Firenze (Florance), Siena (Sienna), and I made an overnight excursion to Bologna (Baloney--just kidding). It is said that people who visit Italy fall into two categories, those who love Florence and those who love Sienna, and I am most definitely in the latter group. 


Here are a few reasons why I'm not real big on Florence. First, you literally have to fight your way through the crowds to see the sights, many of which require long queues. While waiting in these lines, you are pestered by peddlers of all kinds, from Balkan beggars to random African dudes selling an even more random assortment of crap and who don't take no for an answer. These people arrive in a similar manner as Cubans arriving in Florida, in crappily built boats that often require rescuing, but the Italians are so laid-back they don't seem to care. There are also street "performers" doing the "see how long I can hold this pose and throw some money in the hat" routine. I get the guy who has powdered his skin completely white pretending to be a statue of Da Vinci (even though he was from the village of Vinci and not Florence), I even cut the fat guy dressed up as cupid some slack, but what does someone dressed up wearing ancient Egyptian death mask have to do with anything? Second, unlike most cities in northern Italy which are built on hilltops, Florence on a valley floor straddling a river that becomes quite stagnant in the Summer. This combined with all the tourist buses makes the place stink. The only reason why they were able to defend the city in the old days was that the surrounding mountains form a sort of outer wall for the city, and its strategic position on key trading routes ensured it always had enough money to hire top-notch mercenary armies. Third I found the city overall to be architecturally disappointing, perhaps I had been de-sensitized after being in Tuscany for so long. My expectations may have been high, but I just found it to be plainer than expected. Finally, everyone makes a big deal about the cathedral in Florence, and it is indeed very big, but save for the inside of the dome and fresco of John Hawkwood, it is pretty boring inside, nowhere near as ornately decorated as the cathedral in Sienna, which is only slightly smaller. I will concede that it is worth visiting Florence just to see it's greatest museum, the Uffizi. The Uffizi is one of the greatest art museums in the world, holding paintings such as Botticelli's The Birth of Venus and possessing one of the most comprehensive collections of sculptures you can find. Interestingly enough, there was a stone carving directly in front of the Venus expressly put there for blind people. I first thought, who would be cruel enough to bring a blind person to an art museum. Second, Venus's breasts look a little worn from all the attention they're been getting from these poor blind bastards. I only had two hours to tour it which meant I had to power walk through rooms of less interest so I could have time to take in the art that I most wanted to see, and stare into the eyes of all the busts of the Roman Emperors. Most of the sculptures there are in the Hellenistic Greek style but are actually little more than cheap 2,000 year-old Roman copies with only a handful of actual Greek statues.

Fresco of John Hawkwood
in the Cathedral of Florence

I was willing to endure the wait to get in to the cathedral just to see this fresco of John Hawkwood, and waited until lunch time to go when the wait was only 30 minutes (rather clever if I do say so myself, and I do). John Hawkwood is one of my favorite personalities from the Middle Ages. Living in the late 14th century, he was an Englishmen who traveled to Burgundy to fight in the Hundred Years War as a condottieri, or mercenary captain. He eventually made his way to greener pastures in service to wealthy city states of northern and central Italy. The Italians in that time were mostly focused on trade and much of their manpower was vested in great fleets to that effect, they used their wealth to hire private armies to do their fighting for them. These condotierri were the Blackwater of their day, commanding mercenary companies that were essentially pre-packaged armies to supplement the city-states' own militias. John Hawkwood was one of the most astute condotierri of his day, not only as a soldier but as a politician, playing the Italians off one another, accepting a contract from one city-state then demanding money from another not to attack. He was sometimes paid not to become involved in conflicts, and I admire a man whose so good at his job that he gets paid not to do it. He commanded the Papal armies for some time but his most consistent employer was Florence where he became a hero. Therefore a huge fresco is dedicated to him in the cathedral, it was originally to be a model for a bronze statue of him, the funds for which never fully materialized. 

 Cathedral of Sienna

No matter which city you love, everyone loves what lies between: the region of Chianti. On our way to Sienna, we made a couple of stops to do a bit of wine tasting. It was a beautiful day and the Italian countryside had the look and smell of California with the same tinge of unbelievable fiscal irresponsibility. At one winery, the people who went before us in the tasting were a young English couple who bought a couple of overpriced bottles, and then unsuccessfully tried to hint their way into a dip in the pool by asking if there was anywhere to swim nearby, nice try limeys! 

Beautiful floors of the cathedral in Sienna

Sienna...amore mio, I fell in love with Sienna. Perched up on a hill with most of it's walls still intact, Sienna is often overlooked by tourists and much better managed; its narrow cobblestone streets remain unmolested by tourist buses. Shortly after arriving we had one of the better Gelatos I had in Italy, although served in such a generous amount so as to make its consumption a race against time and stickiness. Sienna is a more elegant city than Florence, it is smaller, the buildings closer, the feel of the whole place is more intimate. The cathedral in Sienna is probably the most impressive I have ever seen, inside and out, it is an unbelievable ornate testament to the craftsmanship of those artisans who worked on it for generations. It was begun during the Gothic era and finished during the Renaissance and was originally intended to be the largest cathedral in the world. What exists today was actually intended to be the "arms" of the cathedral that run North-South (churches traditionally are east-oriented) but it's further construction was blocked by the papacy, which did not want it's expansion of St. Peter's to be outshone. Nonetheless, it is a gorgeous cathedral filled with ornate frescoes and unbelievable stone floors depicting biblical scenes. I was lucky to get a picture of it's green and pink marble facade basked in the light of the late-afternoon sun. After prying ourselves from the cathedral, we headed to the central plaza, the Piazza del Campo. It is home to a yearly horse race dating back centuries, in which the districts of the city are pitted against one another in a frantic stampede before a cheering mass of thousands. Our experience was much more quiet, as the sun went down we had dinner on the Piazze del Campo and I had one of the best pizzas of my life, made with bacon and mascarpone, it was also one of the most unhealthy, but I figured the red wine from the day's tasting would balance it out. On our walk back to the car I was amazed to see a store for Champion athletic wear, advertising zip-up hooded sweatshirts for 125 Euros that you could pick up at a Costco back home for $30. Then again, wine that would cost a couple bucks in Italy you'd have to give your first born son for in the US.

Me in the Piazzo del Campo

In the final days of our vacation I had the opportunity to make an excursion of my own to Bologna. A greatly under-appreciated city that is largely ignored by tourists, Bologna is considered by many to be the culinary capital of Italy, and is home to Europe's oldest university. It was a very important Medieval city so naturally I decided to make my way there. I caught the train from Pistoia and had to change in Prato. I waited on the platform for the train and noticed that it was running late, but decided to take an Italian attitude and not worry, there were about ten other people milling around waiting for the train. A few minutes later, a family from Chicago asked me if I was taking the train to Bologna and I told them not to worry that sometimes things run a bit late in Italy. Shortly thereafter, a conductor asked us if we were going to Bologna, then informed us that the train had come in on a different platform and already left, and that an announcement had been made over the loud speaker, but only in Italian. An hour later, I was on my way to Bologna. After arriving, I felt a bit pressed for time and took a taxi to the cheap little hotel I had book just outside of the walls of the old city. The woman at reception spoke no English, but after handing her my passport she found my reservation and handed me my keys. The room was Spartan, but spacious and neat, with a shared bathroom, and only 30 Euros for the night and a 20 minute walk from the city center. After grabbing a quick bite to eat and a Birra Moretti, the only Italians beer worth drinking, I headed the nearest gate and inside of the wall. Bologna is a very old city even for Italy, it feels like the buildings are looming in towards you, partially because of the beautifully decorated covered sidewalks which the city is famous for. I made my way to the central plaza with it's fountain of Neptune and cathedral, whose outer facade was unfortunately obstructed by renovations. I stopped at the nearby site of the original university, and visited the world's first operating theater where examinations of cadavers were exhibited under the watchful eye of an Inquisitor. I then headed to the renowned antiquities museum to take in some Roman and Etruscan artifacts, only to arrive ten minutes before it's 3PM closing time and being turned away. It was my own fault for not paying better attention while preparing for my excursion, but I was nonetheless forlorn and in need of spiritual renewal. So, I headed south to the Basilica d' San Dominica, wherein the Capella holds the bones of Saint Dominic, founder of the Dominican order. Saint Dominic was an ascetic, known for leading an unbelievably humble life even though he was born into a wealthy family. A student during a terrible famine, he sold his books (which would have been unbelievably valuable at the time) so that he could use the proceeds to feed the starving-poor most affected. Were he to see how unbelievably beautifully the Capella is that houses his remains, he would turn over in his ornately-decorated marble sarcophagus, for which an angel was carved by a 19-year-old Michelangelo.

A nice marble table to get carved up on

 Bologna is full of churches that aren't even mentioned on tourist maps but are nonetheless incredible edifices and examples of craftsmanship. After taking in a dizzying amount of them, I headed back to the hotel to get off my feet before heading out to take in some of the night life. I came back to the hotel and found a guy working on a Vespa in front of the door, after he saw me standing at the reception desk he came in and asked my what I needed. Thankfully he spoke very good English and was able to give me the restaurant recommendation I was looking for, something not too touristy or expensive between there and the university district. He gave me the name of a place 5 minutes away and clear directions on how to get there. I certainly got what I asked for. No one at this place spoke English, especially the staff. The very comprehensive menu was only in Italian, and after looking over it for 20 minutes I ordered some dishes that I could recognize a few words in: some kind of pasta with asparagus, some kind of meat, and red wine. I ended up with a pasta course of asparagus and squid (which thankfully I like) that was delicious, a thin-cut, pan-fried, breaded pork cutlet that closely resembled schnitzel, and a rather large carafe of wine, all for about 20 Euros. I thoroughly enjoyed my feast out on the patio as I watched a couple of silly little girls raise all kinds of hell running around, sporadically fighting with each-other, and knocking over the restaurant's potted plants. After the unexpected carafe of wine I found myself feeling quite social and headed to the university where I earlier seen a stage being set up and found they were having some kind open mic night with people reading poetry and playing music, one group actually laying down some pretty respectable blues music. I met a group of Erasmus students while there, a couple of girls, German and Dutch, and a couple of guys, Greek and Chinese. Erasmus is a program by which people study at different universities throughout the course of their degree so as to receive as diverse an education as possible. As the open mic night drew to a close we headed to a bar nearby that is well-known for doing all kinds of creative shots ranging in taste, and in the spirit of Erasmus, took in a variety of shooters, some tropical, some involving fire, some having absinthe and others whipped cream. These bartenders knew their stuff, but I guess being in one of the oldest university towns in the world sets a precedent for having good nightlife. It came time for parting ways, and I headed back to my hotel for some terrible Italian TV and to down a very large bottle of water to ensure that I caught my train in the morning, which I did, fresh as a daisy.

Capella d' San Dominico 

We headed back North the day after I returned from Bologna. Driving up through South Tirol, a German-speaking semi-autonomous region of northern Italy (and it's richest), and past Innsbruck in Austria, before stopping overnight in Munich. I had a chance to once again visit my old friends before resuming the journey with the two poor babies forced to endure such a long car ride. Being in a car with small children for 6+ hours a day is enough even to try the patience and kindness of Saint Dominic. So is trying to cram your stuff into one of those roof-rack boxes you see atop of cars, trying to perfectly jostle the contents so that everything lines up correctly and you can finally lock the damned thing. In the end Wolfram and I were triumphant, fitting all our luggage along with the wine and olive oil we brought back into the car and box, arriving in Berlin last Saturday night with our wits still about us, just a few days before Berlin Autumn's first cold kiss.

Zest for Life and Lot's of Hand-gesturing

San Bernadino pass, not to be confused
with the street in Newport Heights

Two weeks ago the Family von Heynitz and I headed south across the Alps to enjoy some vacation time, taking the same route as great medieval German kings seeking to bring the rich and proud Italian city-states into line with the rest of the Holy Roman Empire. So I, like a middle-aged woman attempting to reclaim her mojo (yes I have seen the movie) headed to Tuscany. Our adventure began early on a Friday morning, pulling sandy-eyed babies out of bed in an act of revenge for all the inopportune times they'd woken us up; heading to a lovely Schwäbisch town to stay with a college friend of Wolfram's on the first leg of our Italian expedition. Swabia is a region of southwestern Germany, existing across the border of Baden-Württemberg and Bayern (Bavaria), with a dialect that, according to Germans, is arguably less comprehensible than the Bayersich that is spoken in the countryside surrounding Munich (where I did my third year of college). Thankfully, our hosts spoke Hochdeutsch (High-German) and were as delightful as they were well educated. This is also one of the most prosperous regions of Germany, for example, the town had an unemployment rate of less than 3%, which statically speaking means the population is fully employed. 

Sunset on our first night in Borgo Casalvento,
with Dutch neighbors in foreground.

The next day we saw five countries in one day: Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Lichtenstein, and Italy. For those who are curious, Lichtenstein is a country that is a few miles across, and has served as a tax-haven for Germans as well as other Europeans for a long time; a Cayman Islands of the Alps. I always wondered how such a tiny country could have endured for so long, until I saw it; Lichtenstein has a few Alpine villages surrounding a small city with an impressive old fortress above it that serves as it's capital, all sitting on some of the most defensible ground I have ever seen. 

And then came Italy, strikingly similar to California in several ways. First, the landscape, second, the aggressive driving, third, the fashion consciousness, and finally, no one seems to work. You walk around a town at ten in the morning and people seem to be just then filing into work begrudgingly before taking a two hour lunch break. Despite the lax work schedule, it sounds like someone is getting chewed-out whenever you walk into any business there. Italy is the kind of place where you can great a great espresso in a gas station and you can't really get a bad meal anywhere. 

Soon to be known as Palazzo d' Kalanzo

Italy is full of beautiful, svelte young women with olive skin and pouty expressions on their faces, along with four-and-half-foot-tall grandma's in coke-bottle glasses who spend their days swooning over the "bambinos"--the change seems to happen overnight. Young Italian men often come in a skinny-jeans wearing type that is more concerned with what the other guys are wearing rather than the girls, juxtaposed with the self-assured jolly older Italian man. The aging process is more apparent, with the creepy Berlusconi style man in between. Italy is a country where the Prime Minister can be brought up on several counts of having sex with underage prostitutes, but not be impeached because he is probably the most productive and successful leader they've had in decades (Italy has had something like 18 constitutions since WWII). Nonetheless, Italians are overall friendly, wonderful people who know how to live life well and I had a chance to enjoy some of this good life. Surprisingly few Italians speak English however, which I admit was a proud assumption on my part. The towns are also full of fat little dogs that are very pushy and seem to have no problem blocking traffic. While there I had my own little friend/enemy, a skinny cat who I caught once digging through our garbage (which I had to then clean up), and who tried to sneak into our apartment so many times that I named him Mr. Kitty. 

The elusive Mr. Kitty

We stayed in a rental apartment in a renovated farmhouse on what appeared to be an old olive farm, judging by all the old olive tress. It was on a mountain in an area known as Baco, above the town of Cantagrillo, near the walled medieval city of Pistoia, less than an hour west of Firenze (Florence) by car. Our first week we found ourselves to be the only non-Dutch family staying there. As part of our package we rented mountain bikes but soon found that our location was so charmingly remote as to make anything more than a short journey more strenuous than enjoyable. I discovered this for us on one of the first days, when, after a hair-raising flight down the mountain to Cantagrillo lasting a little more than five minutes, I then endured a 40-minute Bataan Death March-esque trip back up the mountain, riding less than a quarter of the way up, in which I discovered that I am woefully out of shape and in need of a gym membership. A lot of people do bicycle tours of Tuscany, which seems idiotic to me considering that it is a very hilly region where most of the towns and cities worth seeing are placed on defensible ground. Perhaps these tourists want to be able to brag to their friends back home that they were the only people to lose weight while visiting Italy. 

A gate of San Gimignano

The first week of our visit included trips to the walled cities of Lucca, known for it's elegant palazzo and cathedral, San Gimignano (don't ask me how to pronounce it), known for it's many medieval towers and fresco-covered church, Volterra, known for it's breath-taking, windswept view, and Pistoia, which I found to be a much overlooked destination. This is partially due to the fact that I had a chance to enjoy some of the nightlife there. After a walk around the beautifully-lit city-center, I tried a couple of bars, eventually landing at one which not only had an English-speaking bar tender, but one who was headed to California for a two-month research project. After trying a couple of local wines I asked him to call me a cab to head home around 12:30, he refused, saying that the scene was just really getting good, and that I should stay and let him give me a lift home. A cute Basque bartender then made me a stiff Mojito. A couple hours later I found myself making stops with him at the apartments of two of his friends, allowing me the opportunity to mix with some of the locals in a more natural, non-touristy setting. Good luck in San Francisco Alessio!

A tree miraculously growing from
the stone of a tower in Lucca

Even reading a menu in Italian makes you wish that you could speak the language, and thankfully you can kind of fake your way through Italian, at least enough to order a meal or get some prosciutto at the butcher, if you already know a little Spanish, or took three years of Latin in high school. People there tend to express themselves with intense hand-gesturing and miming, making them potentially great players of charades if they were able to hold their tongues.  

Italian bird hunters Davido McHoné and
Bobito Milikenangelo overlooking Cantagrillo

Next week I will publish part two of the Italian adventure, with visits to Sienna, Florence, and Bologna. See you then, and sorry for the long wait since my last blog!