Back (part 1)
Kip Williams
report just yet, but I want to add one to the 9999 read messages it
says I have and see what happens.
Let's see. March 14, I wrapped up my work for the next couple of
weeks, leaving just a few minutes late. Next day I slept in a little
and repacked and re-repacked my luggage again, hoping for something
less heavy but still useful. My plan was to pack half enough for the
trip and do a laundry somewhere. Noonish, we left for the airport
and flew up to LaGuardia. Then it was ten hours in one seat, and at
the other end was Venice.
March 15, we landed in the morning. One of the college students on
the plane was cutting up on the shuttle to the gate. "He's got an
Uzi!" he exclaimed on seeing a guard, and plastered himself against
the glass, to the amusement of his friends. I was a little amused at
that guard coming along and taking him off somewhere right after
that, but only when he returned after a few minutes. Passports and
all searches went swimmingly. For once, I had so little junk in my
pockets that the detector didn't even peep at me. Sylvana, our tour
guide, was waiting for us, and led us to the bus, where we were
joined before long by the rest of our family group within the tour
-- Cathy's mom (Dolores), two sisters (Mary and Janet), and our
niece (Lauren, daughter of Janet). Our driver, Romolo, never said
much, but got us where we were going. Our hotel for the first part
of the trip was the Venezia, in the Le Mestre (mainland) part of
town. Brief interest in the bidet. Advised against giving in to
sleep this early in the trip, we caught a number 4 bus to the
Piazzale Roma, and transferred to the water bus. We didn't know we
were getting on the 'local,' which stopped everywhere, and were
hungry enough at San Marcos Square to eat in pretty much the first
place we see. Let me just say that my pork chop and hot chocolate
(which I warmed my fingers over before drinking) were actually
pretty good, despite this particular place's overall unworthiness.
Actually, it was the nicest hot chocolate I had on the trip --
semi-sweet, and halfway to pudding in its thickness. We kept hoping
to see more like it, but mostly found conventional cocoa. It always
hit the spot, but I liked that thick stuff. We practiced avoiding
beggars and vendors, though I was interested enough to peer sidewise
at the Mickey and Minnie cutouts (Topolino and Topolina?) dancing
along with a boom box on one of the bridges. Then we came back and
had dinner with the group.
March 16, we got up with the tour and went back to S. Marcos. Our
guide herds us along with the visual aid of a yellow plastic duck on
a stick -- okay, it was obviously a flyswatter -- and we take a
water taxi over. She taught us stuff wherever we went. In past
employment, she was a teacher, and she has also published at least
one book (her last name is Tesorioro, though I suspect I may be off
my one vowel in that). Sylvana handed us off to a local specialist
guide, who raced us through the Doge's Palace, the New Prison (newer
than the Old Prison, and used up until 1922), and maybe Disneyland,
past blurs of oil resin that are probably art treasures under 30
miles per hour. We got a short demo of glass-blowing at the Murano
Glass showroom before having a light meal of soup and sandwich at a
small place nearby. When I visited the restroom, I was glad I had
the option of standing up for much of what I do in such places, as
this one had no seat (no paper either, but I don't think that was a
design decision). Free of guidance at last, Cathy and I went to the
main church with Mary and Lauren. This included walking on the
second floor balcony, which clearly wasn't made for walking. It is
paved with uneven slabs of marble that all slant downward.
Convenient for rain, a little nervous for vertiginous humans. It was
worth it for the view, including the clock tower (under
scaffolding), which I think is commemorated in the "Viennese Musical
Clock" section of Kodaly's opera "Hary Janos." Then Cathy and I
walked back to Piazzale Roma, following the ubiquitous yellow signs,
and bused back to the hotel. We saw various items of interest in
shops: my favorite was a pair of little binoculars that doubled as a
digital camera -- definite product lust over that one. There was
also a CD shop in the mall across the street with a good classical
section, and good prices on classical, so I splurged on a box set of
Bach's organ music. They had a bit of a sheet music section, too,
though I was able to resist what they had for sale.
March 17 was a free day, so we bussed it down to P. le Roma and
hopped the #82 water bus -- the express, not the local. Our goal for
our group (the whole family this time) was the church of Santa Maria
Dei Glorioso (sic?). Church was in session, so we walked around
nearby and had food and went to the nearby Scuola de San Rocco. I
tipped a guitarist who was playing outside, and he pointed out his
CDs for sale, and I bought one. (I see from the cover that he's
Hungarian.) Inside the Scuola, we enjoyed paintings and elaborate
wood carvings to the faint sounds of classical guitar drifting up
from outside. I was pleased to pick up a book with color plates of
all the carvings. When I learn enough Italian to do more than just
pick bits of information out of it, I'll learn who did it, and what
kind of wood they are. I especially like the carved bookshelf and
books, complete with a pair of wooden reading glasses on top of one
volume. There's also a little painting of three oranges by
Tintoretto that looks almost like an abstract. By this time, it was
visiting hours for the other church, so we went back to find it
closed up. Shrugging that off, we proceeded to the Ponte Rialto,
where I purchased a new silk tie -- which I've needed for the last
ten years or so -- emprinted with Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag." If
anyone compliments me on it, I'll just say "this old rag?" (Still
waiting.) We walked more, caught the bus home, and had a slow meal
at the hotel.
March 18, we said goodbye to Venice. Venice being multilingual, it
probably understood us. Better than the guy at the truck stop, who
knew English like I know Italian: we stared at each other helplessly
when the sandwich I had bought was taken by someone else. Brain was
stalled, though I probably could have tried Spanish or German and
maybe gotten some help. Amazing how dumb we can look when we're
afraid of looking foolish. I paid for my error with a substitute
sandwich that was not all that exciting. I also bought a "Martin
Mystere" comic digest, which had a visual flair that appealed to me.
It was on this bus trip that I finally started putting my trip notes
down, though it would be some days before I got close to setting
events down as they occurred. We arrived at Florence after four
hours of bus time (we were in Italy ten days, and were at each
destination for three days, so I guess bus time accounted for the
tenth day -- luckily, bus travel isn't so bad). Florence had more
graffiti than Venice, much of it fairly banal political slogans, and
way more dog shit. Considering how narrow the sidewalks are, the
dogs probably had to really work to get it all right underfoot like
that. As befitting its age, the town had tiny old streets, dotted
with idiots on motor bikes. We stayed at the Hotel Due Fontane, on
the plaza of the saints of the Assumption... or was it the
Annunciation? Anyway, we were off again, stretching our legs to
follow the duck to S. Maria dei Fiori and see the Ghiberti "Gates of
Paradise" friezes. I particularly liked the trompe l'oeil (triumph
of the oil) illusionistic paintings on the dome. After that, Cathy
was tired, so we split from the tour and went our own way. The rest
of the family did likewise, with Janet and Mary climbing to the top
of the bell tower. While Cathy rested in the room, I went out and
sketched one of the fountains outside. For dinner, we went with the
tour to an 'optional' at a fine eatery in Fiesole, where I could
look down at the town, as my friend Randy (who lived here for a year
in the early 70s) had advised. After eating, we walked around the
square some and went into a little church with a neat old cabinet
organ, very much like the one in Petersburg, Virginia (which is the
oldest English cabinet organ in the world). We went back to the
hotel, past a crowd of people in the square who were having some
sort of demonstration. (How to light a bonfire? Never found out what
it was about.)
March 19, I rose and showered as quickly as possible, in hopes that
the bathroom floor might not be soaked. The shower, you see, is
right out in the floor, with no stall or tub, and the floor has a
one-degree slant down to the drain, which worked about as well as
writing the word "DRAIN" on the floor would have. I'm no barbarian,
but a real shower would have been kind of nice. We took the tour bus
to Pisa, where I got more caught up on my journal before we saw the
cathedral, bell tower (from the outside) and baptistry. Seeking a
restroom, I found myself with no choice but to use a squatty potty
(a hole in the floor that flushes). I was repaid just afterwards, by
finding a five-Euro note on the ground. For the rest of the trip, I
watched the ground carefully, but only found small coins. Our tour
of the baptistry includes a demonstration of the sweet echo by a
guard who may have been chosen for his nice voice. He sang some
chords with his reverberations. I went to the top of the stairs
there, and took some pictures out the windows for the rest of the
group.
When we got back to Florence, Cathy and Mom and I went to the Uffizi
Gallery, for two hours. Just as I was leaving, I found an exhibit I
could have put in at least a half hour on, about the discovery of
perspective and illusionistic art. Lucky for me, there was a book on
it, so I can pore over that to my heart's content back home. I was a
little sad that the room of miniatures was closed off -- even
through my monocular, all I could tell was "this one's a face..."
and so on. I wanted to look at least at the beginning of the Vasari
Corridor, but I managed to miss that as well (along with all the
Boticelli rooms). As with many things on the trip, I consoled myself
with all the great stuff I was able to see.
Now I am interrupted in my writing, so I will make this part 1, and
return in a few minutes with part 2. Will I survive? Will Italy
survive? Will I whip up some fake suspense by inflating trivial
events into massive epics in the next part? Time will tell! TIME...
WILL... TELL!!
--
--Kip (Williams) ...presently between web pages...
Dorothy: He's saying "oil can!" Scarecrow: Oil can -what-?
Trinker
Kip Williams wrote:
> I particularly liked the trompe l'oeil (triumph
> of the oil) illusionistic paintings on the dome.
I hate to nitpick such a lovely travelogue, but I believe that
"tromple l'oeil" is actually "trick the eye".
--Trinker
Kip Williams
Thank you for exposing my pun to a wider audience. It would be
immodest to detail why, but it's always been a favorite of mine.
(Waves to imaginary audience.)
--
--Kip (Williams) ...temporarily between web pages, but...
Rich Lynch
> Well, we're back from Italy. I wasn't planning on writing a trip
> report just yet, but I want to add one to the 9999 read messages it
> says I have and see what happens.
Welcome back, and thanks for writing about the trip. Not sure I will
ever get to see Italy, but I am going back to Eastern Europe for two
weeks in mid April.
Like you, I feel obligated to write about travel, if nothing else to
allow my friends to vicariously experience some of the places I've
been and sights I've seen. (Omnes: all of my 'Postcard Diaries of
Eastern Europe' are on the web; here's the URL for the most recent
one: http://www.jophan.org/eurodiary7/ ) I'm going to try to write
another one for this trip. (I'm planning to go to Budapest,
Bratislava, Vienna, Prague, Warsaw, and Krakow.)
Rich Lynch
====
MIMOSA web site: http://www.jophan.org/mimosa/
new issue MIMOSA 27 now online
Trinker
Kip Williams wrote:
>
> Trinker wrote:
> >
> > Kip Williams wrote:
> > > I particularly liked the trompe l'oeil (triumph
> > > of the oil) illusionistic paintings on the dome.
> >
> > I hate to nitpick such a lovely travelogue, but I believe that
> > "tromple l'oeil" is actually "trick the eye".
Where on earth did that extra 'l' come from?!
> Thank you for exposing my pun to a wider audience. It would be
> immodest to detail why, but it's always been a favorite of mine.
>
> (Waves to imaginary audience.)
Perhaps Kip needs a vacation to recover from his vacation.
--Trinker
Kip Williams
Yeah, but you try telling the folks in charge that...
--
--Kip (Williams) ...presently between imaginary audiences