Liberation of Florence

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Last Saturday was the 68th Anniversary of the Liberation of Florence from the Germans, under whose occupation the city suffered great damage during WWII.

Among the many civic celebrations in Florence, this one is particularly well attended by native Florentines, many of whose families witnessed the brutal mutilation of their city.

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I felt a great sense of pride as an American participating in the ceremonies as it unites me closer to the Florentine community in celebration of a mutual victory.
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In order to attend the ceremonies in Palazzo Vecchio, one must receive a private written invitation from Mayor Renzi.

While I will never achieve such insider status, I was fortunate to have been extended  a written invitation by a native Florentine friend whose husband was unable to attend. I was honored to partake in the festivities in the filled-to-capacity Salone dei Cinquecento in Palazzo Vecchio and afforded a VIP seat for the closing concert conducted in the Arengario in Piazza Signoria. It was a day of great emotion, solidarity and pride.

Below is an amazing video taken in the streets of Florence as Allied Forces liberated the city on August 11, 1944.  One minute of vintage history-in-the-making!!!  Viva Firenze!!  You must plug in your headset as the audio quality is poor!  Don't miss it!

Celebrating the Silence

I love it and I hate it.  August in Florence.  We are expecting our 7th heat "wave", but since June, I cannot tell where one has ended and the next has begun. We are enduring a persistent drought unseen in years. Merchants and residents alike have left the city behind in pursuit of cooler destinations, clinging to a vacation tradition that has it roots in ancient Roman times.  A tradition that is slowly fading as Italy is forced to become more competitive and fewer Italians can afford the luxury of vacations and time off from work.

While the tourist trade never sleeps in Florence, in my little world, nearly everything is closed and I am the only tenant left in my building. I've learned that anything you need in August, you better buy in July.  As I gaze out my window, my neighbors' shutters are closed, there are no clothes hanging on the lines and my plants are almost dead from the heat. An eerie solitude hovers over my empty courtyard at night.

But I too, am clinging to my own "tradition" of heading south after the panic has ended, to enjoy uncrowded beaches, no traffic, no lines and better service.  I've again chosen to remain in my beloved Florence, even when the going gets tough. For more reasons than one.

I love this city even in its heat and its silence. The roads are empty. I can spend mornings enjoying traffic-free bike rides in the northern hills and passeggiatas in the city. The duomo bells resonate with a richer tone and a deeper echo since there is nothing to absorb the sound. My girlfriends seem to be taking turns going away, so there's always someone here with whom to share an aperitivo on Florence's rooftops, overlooking a quiet and peaceful city. Or at Las Palmas, my favorite open-air niche. I've found a little oasis in the Cascine, where a local piscina allows me to run or ride in the morning and swim in the afternoon.  In August, even the Duomo looks lonely, but it feels like it's all mine, as it stands silent against the backdrop of a naked city.

I spend more time indoors, doing things that I would typically find boring, but love it.  Like watching cultural films on T.V., reading, writing, tending my plants and refining my goals for the rest of the year.  And  taking time to lay back, have a glass of wine, and enjoy il "dolce far niente".

A Big Find in a Little Museum

I joined a group of Florentines today on a tour which examined the works of five Renaissance artists who left their mark in the Land of Arezzo. The tour is one of many sponsored by the initiative "Rinascimento in Terra d'Arezzo" exploring some of the lesser frequented "Little Big Museums" outside the city of Florence. The program, promoted to the Florentine community by a Florentine cultural arts foundation, offers gratis day trip tours via motorcoach, skilfully guided by a master Renaissance art expert.

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I heard some reviews from local friends and it sounded like a unique oppotunity to examine a very select sample of masterpieces of Filippo Lippi, Beato Angelico, Luca Signorelli, Bartolomeo della Gatta and Lorenzo de Credi within the context of their original settings.

The tour took us to Arezzo, Cortona and Castiglion Fiorentino, where we spent a short but concise amount of time in each of a few museums.  I found it to be an effective way of avoiding "Stendhal Syndrome" because it was focused, clear and expertly guided by a passionate, animated scholar.  Calling it a "tour" is a misnomer.  It was rather a scholastic expedition among a group of well-heeled Florentine art afficionados.

The highlight of my day was the mind-blowing "gift" that I received at the end of the tour.  While we were in "Collegiata e Museo della Pieve di San Giuliano" in Castiglion Fiorentino, my eyes caught sight of a painting that I knew from my distant past, but never knew where it came from, or who the artist was.

Pictured above, is the painting, "L'Adorazione" by Lorenzo de Credi. It was the very image from a holy card that I cherished as a kid for many years, and used as a bookmark.  The image disappeared from my memory until I saw it today, connecting yet another link between my past and my present life that was simply meant to be in Florence.

Coping with the Heat, Italian Style

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These are my two most recent acquisitions, made by a local artisan.  Now all I need are sandals to match.

In spite of their vulnerability to stiff necks and sore throats, the Italians are slowly surrendering to air-conditioners. Their tolerance to the heat is admirable. Today in 41 degree heat, I chuckled insidiously as I caught glimpse of a woman wearing short shorts, flip flops a see-though short top, and a heavy scarf frivolously wrapped three times around her throat. 
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However, for me, it is still a challenge to take a passeggiata in Florence without some creative way of keeping myself cool.  A gelato cools the body, a bike creates a breeze, and so does a ventaglio.  I never thought I would ever own a ventaglio (fan), no less a seriously fashionable one.  But I just had to break down.  
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Ah.....living the Italian life has changed everything about me. And I love it.

A Spiritual Encounter with Dante

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When the box office opened for Benigni's return to Florence to revive his 2006 presentation of  Dante's Inferno, I reserved a subscription for 6 of the12 evenings, which concluded in a stunning climax last night.The encounter brought me face-to-face with two of my greatest idols, Benigni and Dante.

Benigni, in his genius, so eloquently and charismatically brought Dante's Inferno out of  the Middle Ages, right into the lap of modern-day Florence. Just being there was a lifetime gift.

I realized as I sat there on opening night that I wasn't waiting a mere few months for this night, but rather I was waiting a lifetime.


Following the series was akin to following some of the worlds' greatest events, like the Olympics or the Giro d'Italia.  You don't want it to end, and when it does, you feel like something is missing. Last night, Benigni made his final presentation of Canto XXII, ending two weeks of profound, mind-boggling emotional entertainment.

During the series, I reflected upon a person who had a great impact upon me, Dr. Mirella Affron, Ph.D, under whose tutelage I first studied Dante.  This exceptional woman fed my passion for Italy and awoke my appreciation for my Italian roots.  Everyone has that special teacher who pinches a nerve that you didn't know you had. Who inspires and provokes you.  Dr. Mirella Affron was that person for me.

Mirella Affron, my Italian Professor
at City College of New York, still
going strong

Last night, I looked her up on the internet to see where she is today. This is a photo of her that I found. At first, I was shocked to realize how many years have passed and how she has aged. It made me realize the long journey that I've traveled to get here.

She still has that same beautiful glow in her eyes that has inspired so many students over the years.  Thank you, Dr. Affron.

Click here for article in La Nazione

My Apartment in Florence.....Moving On!

View From My Living Room

It’s been hot as hell in Florence since mid-June. As much as I love living the simple Italian life and have enthusiastically embraced old-world traditions like hanging my clothes out to dry and washing the floors with a 5 pound mop, there are a few American conveniences that I can’t live without. The top of the list::  air conditioning.
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Florence can cook my brain and physically break me down as much in the summer as it can feed my brain and fulfill my soul the rest of the year. This season has been especially difficult for me to survive without air-conditioning. This has given me the incentive to search for another cooler, larger apartment in Centro.

Air conditioning is not really the reason why I am searching for a new place to live, but it has been the catalyst. The truth is that I have been living in the same apartment that I rented for 3 months when I came to study here.....4 years ago. My life has grown and now I want a long-term lease in a more residential palazzo, with an extra bedroom and bathroom.

View From My Bedroom

It is hard to believe after 4 years, that I would consider leaving this little piece of heaven where my fairy-tale destiny in Italy came true. I love my special place, but it is time to move on. I am ready to start “Chapter 2” of my life in Italy.

I must quickly reminisce! I found this apartment while I was planning to study in Florence for 3 months in 2008. It was advertised on Craigslist as the former art studio of artist Pietro Annigoni. Little did I know just what that meant! It featured an enormous, romantic bedroom with high chestnut-beamed ceilings, two walls of tall windows, a living room with a stunning view of the duomo, a fireplace kitchen and a terrace laced with jasmine and gardenias. In the bedroom where I sleep, Annigoni painted his portrait of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth! Yes, she sat in my bedroom!

Destiny, timing and instinct collided at once, leading me to my final doormat….this apartment in Florence.

During my 3 month stay, a series of successive miracles occurred, one after the other, begging me to stay. Life came together for me, and all of it happened from this special apartment, the home where I’ve spent my first 4 years living in Florence.



My Front Door and One of my Bikes

 Instant friends, an adopted Italian family with whom I spend weekends and holidays. A job that fell in my lap, and a group of local cyclists who invited me onto their team.

As if that was not enough, the greatest miracle of all was yet to come: After an unsuccessful attempt to find my grandparents’ naturalization papers (with no intent other than to proudly frame and hang them on my wall), I discovered to my utter shock that they (who immigrated to New York in 1909), never became American citizens. Discovering this exactly 100 years later in 2009, was an unmistakable act of God. This entitled me to be an Italian citizen “jure sanguinis”. My destiny: two passports, Florentine residency and a life in Italy that has allowed me to rediscover the “lost” traditions and comforts that I learned as a child growing up in a neighborhood of Italian immigrants who held strong to their Italian roots. My life in Italy was always meant to be, but it had to evolve.



My Bedroom

I am searching for a new place to call home in Florence. I don’t know how I will give up my epic view of the duomo. I don’t know how I will get along without the swallows returning to the rooftops every April 1st, where they sing for me every morning and return at sunset, flying in front of my duomo view, fulfilled and happy after a day of eating up the mosquitoes on the Arno. They left in mid-July, overwhelmed by the summer heat. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open my window again to greet them next April. I’m very lucky to have this unique place that I’ve called home since 2008.

But I am ready for a change, a larger space, to embark upon Chapter 2 of my life in Italy. The right place will appear as naturally and as certainly as this little piece of heaven appeared to me 4 years ago.

My Apartment Photo Album

Coming Back Soon !

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Welcome back to my blog. I think every now and then I need to un-clog my brain and let my life and experiences unfold without writing a thing.  I am feeling ready to write again, for the sake of expressing myself, my love of life, my love of Florence, and as a way of ensuring that my memories and sentiments will survive me....even if in a virtual world. 

There is so much pouring out of me, so many times that I celebrate a moment that I want to record.  Most of it revolves around the profound love that I have for this country, my life in Florence and the people who have become my friends and family in Italy.

Moments become memories.  Memories can get blurry, even lost. So, I'll continue my blog for me, for one day, when I look back at how lucky I was, to recall the moments and memories of a lifetime dream-come- true.

If you care to follow my jouney on the way, you are invited!  And say hello every now and then.  It can be weird being out there in the anonymous world of blogging!
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See you soon.
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"Vestiamo il David"

Piazza della Signoria was jam-packed tonight with proud fans of Florence's soccer team, La Fiorentina, who created a thunder that rocked all of Florence. 

Here, the Comune di Firenze staged an extraordinary light show projected onto the walls of Palazzo Vecchio, celebrating the team's new technical sponsor.
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What made this event so spectacular, was the ingenuious lighting technique that was used to project dynamic images of the new team jerseys onto an image of Michelangelo’s David, creating the illusion that David himself was wearing the new jersey!  Thus the theme, “Vestiamo il David”.   A spellbinding and emotional evening!

 

Closing Down My Blog For a While

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I started my blog almost 4 years ago when I first came to Florence to study and immerse myself in the culture and the language.  Little did I know that this experience would lead me to a permanent life in Italy.

My blog started as a way to keep in touch with my friends and let them know what was happening to me day-by-day.  However, in the past several months, I realize that my blog is not what it used to be.  Instead of being a spontaneous way of celebrating each and every glorious day that I live in Firenze, it has become an infrequent and calculated commentary on diverse subjects that strike me at the moment.

But there are so many people out there who do that!  I am no expert and I don't want to be one.  I just want to be true to my blog and feel the freedom that I once had in freely expressing my feelings.

For some reason, perhaps because my blog has gone global, I've been feeling very conscious about what I write, because my audience is so diverse and so anonymous.  And that's not what I originally intended my blog to be.  As a result, I have not been true to myself, because I feel that in a way, my privacy has been compromised, and as a result, I am reluctant to express my silly and passionate feelings about my amazing "every-day" life in the city that has fulfilled every single dream I've ever had.

So, I have decided to temporarily shut-down my blog, until I can allow myself to write freely again, without paying attention to every word, without worrying about if people who I don't even know are criticizing me, without caring who thinks what of me.  I don't want to proof-read, I don't want to do anything but write about the glorious life that I have realized in Florence.

I will continue writing in my blog, but in privacy.  I will write more frequently, maybe every day.  I need the juices to start flowing again, because every moment that I spend living here is precious.  Too precious not to write about.

I intend to open my blog up again....as soon as it flows the way it used to, and as soon as I feel that it is once again what I originally intended it to be! I don't know when that will be!

I know I will lose readers and that's okay, because that is not my objective.  When I open my blog again, I will post a note on Facebook and on Networked Blogs and other portals, to let you know that my blog is "alive" again, "whenever that is".  So, maybe we will meet again!  Thank you for your interest.

The Tiglio Flowers are Blooming!

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Have you noticed the intoxicating fragrance of flowers infusing the air of Florence for the past few days?  It is one of my favorite scents, the sweet smell of the Tiglio Tree.  When the Tiglio tree blooms in early June, it produces clusters of dangling yellow pendulum-like flowers that emit an intense perfume. The heavenly scent is strong and very sweet, more delicate than honeysuckle but equally pungent, and stronger and sweeter than jasmine.  All of Florence smells so sweet !!

The Tiglio trees can be found scattered around a few of Florence's residential piazzas, such as Piazza d'Azeglio and on the corner of Via dell'Angolo and Borgo Allegri.  But the smell that is virtually hypnotizing the city right now is emanating from Parco delle Cascine, where an abundance of these trees cohabitate alongside their neighbors, the chestnut trees. Their captivating fragrance is carried along the Arno by breezes that blow east towards centro storico.  These tall elegant trees flank both sides of the northern perimiter of the park and they lace the interior dirt path where many runners choose to jog under their cool shade.

When these trees are dressed up in their yellow floral costumes, they are a pleasure to see and to smell.  And here's a surprise!  The flowers themselves can be eaten and are heavenly sweet.  You must pick them at the right time (within the next few days) when they are  ripe, sweet and al dente.  They are delicious and crunchy in the center.  Just pick them off the tree!

Last year I saw a woman picking them and putting them in a basket.  I inquired.  She said that the flowers are used to make an herbal tea.  So, not only can you eat the flowers right off the tree, but you can savor them all year round in your tea.  The flowers have a calming effect and medicinal properties that enable it to be used to cure stomach and digestive ailments and angina.  The sap of the trees is used to treat intestinal spasms and liver problems. The flowers are also used to create fragrant soaps, perfumes and sachets.

Because of their sweet scent, they attract bees that produce a delicate Tiglio honey reminiscent of fresh mint and eucalpytus. This honey is produced and bottled in Piemonte and Emilia Romagna where the trees thrive in great numbers.

So, if you get a chance, take a ride or a walk down to the park to observe the beauty, smell the flowers and pick some too!  They taste like candy....and wait until you taste the tea!!  Don't forget to bring a basket.  When you get home, leave them out to dry and put them in an air-tight tin can to preserve them for all-year-round tea.  But do it fast!  If we have windy rain like we had last year, the flowers will all fall to the ground before you get to them.  Enjoy!

Sono Golosa! Ma Basta!

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Perhaps the greatest challenge that I face living in Italy is how to cope with the eating culture and control my weight in spite of my “golosità’”. “Sono golosa” is a common expression announced with unabashed pride, conveying a person’s lust for a particular (or all) food, and the burning pleasure that one derives from eating it. The closest English translation is “I am gluttonous” but unless intended as a joke, it hardly means the same thing, being perceived more as a vice, rather than as considered here, a virtue.

Gluttony has after all, since early Christian times, made it to the top of the Cardinal Sin hit list, along with pride, avarice, wrath and envy.

Regardless of their religiosity and in spite of their respect for Dante, who in  La Commedia evoked fearful images of the horrific consequences of gluttony, Italians have chucked this sin straight out the window. In this culture, “siamo golosi” is a sensual, quasi-sexy expression of our gusto, our appreciation for having food on the table, and for that which feeds our relationships, our family and souls. But unfortunately, that which feeds our souls also feeds our thighs. Or at least mine.

My first year living in Italy, I immediately espoused the “sono golosa” cultura, having been raised on it as a kid. What a great excuse to run wild….everyone accepts it, and I can be me! I was back in “comfort-food land”, a place and state-of-mind that brought me back to my childhood. I was instantly emancipated from the “lean and mean” all-American mentality that I, as a product (or victim) of the Jane Fonda generation, was effectively brainwashed (and still sadly am) to believe that in order to feel happy and successful, we must eat anorexic quantities of food and “feel the burn.”

I indulged myself at sagras, tested every aperitivo buffet in Florence, learned how to love lampredotto and carne bollito and went pazza for finocchiona . I got to know every food stall at the market and developed an ardent appreciation for an exhaustive list of cured meats and other fatal foods. I went through a liter of olive oil per month, a gelato and a bottle of Chianti per day (which at first enhanced the food but maybe now it’s a problem?). I quickly realized that there’s a prescriptive food for every conceivable illness, olive oil being one of the most important, because it lubricates and allows everything else to “slip right through”. To me it’s another dimple in the thigh.

I thought I would eventually burn out and get this “food is fun” lust out of my system. I trusted that Florentine Italians must be doing something right since they are not fat in spite of the food obsession. So all I needed to do was to imitate it.

Although many Americans think that Italians are skinny because they eat small portions and walk a lot, I haven’t met those Italians yet. I instead have observed that they eat a lot and they eat often, albeit much more elegantly, slowly (since they are equally busy talking) and artfully than Americans do. They certainly don’t walk, cycle or sweat as much as I do and I’m probably the only woman in town who owns a full set of dumb bells.

They rarely consume one course, wine is a given, and gelato is the high of highs. Their diet is based on fatty and cured meats, bread, pasta, olive oil and lard. Yes they love veggies, but their menus are overwhelmingly carb and fat based. The concept of a calorie has not entered their consciousness although the American influence is slowly creeping in. They eat into the wee hours of the morning. God forbid…if Italian restaurants were to disclose the calorie content on their food menus, it would kill the tourism business and knock off a serious chunk of GDP, if there even is one anymore.

The Italians who I know talk about what they are going to eat, eat it, and then talk about what they ate. So, why are they skinny? Bulimia? Genes? I don’t know, but I unfortunately wasn’t born with it. I inherited an Italian fat gene and have struggled with it all my life. I don’t know whether to blame my Sicilian side or my Neopolitan side, but my family just didn’t get this right. Thank God for Jane Fonda.

Somehow Jane saved the day. She enabled me to become a cheerleader and to excel in competitive sports such as cycling in spite of the insidious golosità that lurked in my blood, threatening to emerge the moment I dropped the ball.

And then the ball dropped. Along with my destiny in Italy, it was bound to happen. On September 8, 2008 my most distant dreams and fears simultaneouslycame true. I moved to the land that I love, and the ghost came out of the closet.

I am surrounded by temptations from the minute I open my window. Within yards of my house there are 7 restaurants, a gelateria immediately downstairs, 2 pastry shops, a butcher, a forno, and a few "street food" joints. Walk further and it’s pure sabotage. I can’t fetch my bike from the piazza without being assaulted by the smell of food emanating from everywhere.

So I am finally saying "basta"!  My love affair with food will never end, but I am figuring out how to enjoy the passion of living in dreamland without overindulging. I don’t want to go back to the Jane Fonda mentality but there has to be a balance.

One month ago I designed a five-star program to deal with it. It is really working so far!  So, if you’re interested in finding out more, I promise to write about it in a future blog post. See you then!

Sensational Spring in Tuscany

Cycling inTuscany is intoxicating at any time of year, but springtime is especially enticing. Covering so much territory while breathing in the perfume of spring flowers and watching the Tuscan earth bursting with such energy is a heady experience. Today, guiding a bike tour, these were just a few of the Tuscan treasures that we saw along the road...

Wild, elegant iris flanking the roads.  Beholding them in their natural environment is a gift!



Sangiovese grapes just starting to pop from the vines....new life is so invigorating to see!  What does this year's harvest have in store?

We were only 2k into our ride when we were greeted by a small flock of sheep!  Pecorino in the making!

And oh!  The olive trees are frizzante with bubbly baby olives growing from their leaves...

Stupefied by the allure of spring popping around us, we had to take a pause and headed to Le Corti winery for a fabulous lunch, wine/olive oil tasting and a tour of the wine cellars and olive press...

After which we saw Massimo picking the most luscious bing cherries from his enormous front yard tree in Chiesanuova!  As we gazed in awe from the road, he invited us in through the front gate, climbed up the ladder and brought us a basket full of cherries.  He wouldn't let me leave without giving me his telephone number, so cute!  I pass by this house several times a week and never noticed the tree, because it was never so ripe with fruit.  Massimo and I are now friends for life!

Artichokes budding like roses!

Happy clients!  See the sheep in the background?

Peaches in the foreground, Florence in the distance

Another sensational day on the road.  I will never tire of this!

                               

Eleven Years of the Giro d'Italia

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It was more than 40 years ago at the age of 15 that I was first exposed to the world of bicycle racing. During the summer of '69 I had the great fortune to study in Grenoble, France, where I watched the Tour de France as it descended Alpe d'Huez.  Not only did Eddy Merckx take the stage but it was the year that he took his first yellow jersey. Since then, it's been in my blood.

Years later I would come to love the Giro d'Italia even more. Eleven years ago, in 2001, I escaped New York City for a serious bike tour in Italy that followed the last 5 stages of the Giro d'Italia.  Not only did it solidify my love for cycling and for Italy, but it eerily turned out to be a pre-vision of my future.  Here is the article I wrote 11 years ago which was published in the New York Cycle Club monthly newsletter. I dug it up today and read it for the first time in many years.  Following the 2001 Giro d'Italia.

Three months later, all my dreams including this one, came to an instant halt by the event of Sept 11.  Thrust from my home in the shadow of the World Trade Center, I was in survival mode for the next 5 years, struggling to regain my sanity and the few pieces of my life that still remained.  Of the material things, I was lucky to salvage a few pieces of furniture, a plant, and the documents on my hard drive, which included the article above.

Well, this dream as well as many other ones came true.  I never would have imagined that today, I would be living in Tuscany, watching the Giro d'Italia pass through my own backyard.  I never dreamed that I would discover that I've been an Italian citizen all my life and never knew it.  Italy's been calling me for a long, long time.

Tomorrow, I'll be joining thousands of cyclists from all over Tuscany to follow Stage 11 of the Giro d'Italia.  Finding the article that I wrote 11 years ago made me think of how I have not only survived the aftermath of September 11th, but how I have thrived and have become a stronger person with a newly founded spirit.  A spirit that has found the environment where it thrives the best.  And how grateful I am to be alive and living out my dream in Italy.

Change

This morning I reached into my purse to pay for a cappucino and out came these quarters. It's funny how a little thing can be so momentarily striking and thought provoking.  I was caught by surprise because I must have put them there when I was in California a month ago.  It just seems so far away, another lifetime.

It made me think of how much my life has changed and how fortunate I am to have found my new life in Italy.  Every day my feet get planted deeper and deeper into the Italian earth.

Tonight while walking down my street, a violinist was on the sidewalk playing the softest Vivaldi. Not an uncommon sight in the zone where I live.  Along with a loose Euro, I dropped the quarters in his violin case and thanked him for adding such sweet music to this glorious spring day in Florence.

Street Music

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Oh Florence, I love you for so many reasons. Thank you for today's musical treat!

The Perfect Combination: A Lot of Bach and A Little Bit of Slow Food

After living in Florence for 3 years I'm still overwhelmend by the boundless repetoire of cultural events the city has to offer.  I often find myself having to make trade-offs, because the choices are so many and so diverse. Additionally, over the past few years, Florence has expanded its role as host-city for various extraordinary international world-class events, making for an ever-growing list of rich and often unique options.  Florence is one enormous cultural amusement park that changes every day and I am an addicted participant.  Just today, the city of Florence announced 2700 cultural events taking place here in 2012!

This weekend offered a long list of one-time events, but the choice was very clear. From Friday through Sunday, Florence played host to the first World Bach-Fest, two full days of round-the-clock, nonstop music, master classes, films and concerts dedicated to Johann Sebastian Bach and brought to life by Ramin Bahrami. I attended the opening night inaugural concert at Teatro Comunale and was afforded a VIP seat through my acquaintance with a friend and opera critic which made it an especially rich learning experience for me. For the next two days and straight through Saturday night, Palazzo Vecchio staged an extensive array of musical performances presented by the world’s top Bach experts, making for an outstanding first-ever musical manifestation.



Ramin Bahrami after signing his CD for me!



I was among the first to arrive early on Saturday morning to secure a seat and receive my entry badge.  The event was open to the public but limited to 500 seats in the Salone dei Cinquecento.  Hypnotized by the music, the genius of the musicians and especially the budding young talent, I lost all sense of time and became affixed to my seat for hours on end, as time stood still.

I don't think the organizers or anyone in Florence expected such an overwhelming turnout.  The 500 seats were exhausted by 10am.  As the day grew longer, hundreds of people waited in queue in Piazza Signoria for hours, hoping for some way to get in.  But the limit of 500 was strictly enforced. Luckily, there was a big screen mounted above the Loggia dei Lanzi which availed a glimpse of the action taking place to those observers in the piazza.  I just heard today that  the total turnout was 8,000 people!

 

I didn't get much sleep during this nonstop musical weekend but was able to sneak back and forth home to take in a few power naps without losing my seat in the wee hours of the morning.  It was a unique opportunity to spend day and night within the sacred walls of the Salone dei Cinquecento surrounding myself with some of the world's greatest musical talent.  A chance that may never happen again.

For me, the highlight of this magical musical weekend was the opportunity to observe the master classes given to young budding Bach musicians by Ramin Bahrmi. It was my first time ever seeing a master class of this caliber in person and thus was very special.

I must admit that on Sunday, instead of sneaking back home for a power nap, I snook back and forth on my bike over to Stazione Leopolda to get a "taste" of another weekend-long fest, the "FuoridiTaste",  an annual food-tasting fair catering both to the gastronomic trade and Italian foodies alike.  It provided the perfect pause from the many hours spent at the Bach-Fest and allowed me plenty of stretching, tasting and digestive time in-between the concerts and presentations at Palazzo Vecchio.

With a little bit of clever planning, I was able to enjoy two unique events this weekend for the perfect musical-culinary combination.....a delight for all of my senses.



The Calm Before the Storm

I love this time of year in Florence. It's no longer winter but spring has not yet arrived, it's that in-between season when roasted chestnuts are a memory, the artichokes are barely breaking ground and the baccelli are at least a month away.  The sagre haven't yet begun.  One day it is brisk and the next day warm and so we don't know quite how to dress and it's not consistently warm enough to attract crowds.  The sun has been optimistically shining!

It's still off-season, overlooked by tourists, perhaps my favorite season in Florence.  It's completly the domain of the Florentines, who seem to go into hiding when the swallows reappear and the tourists come out.  It's not too quiet, not too loud and it's filled with anticipation and fantasy.  The concerts, theater and operas, where I seldom see a visitor,  belong to the residents.  It's a distinct season into itself, a season of anticipation, a pre-spring,  a sort of "on the cusp" time of year....we are living on the edge of our seats waiting for Spring to confirm itself.  The calm before the storm.

Back Where I Belong

It was a thrilling descent into Florence with tear-filled eyes as my plane landed at near midnight with a window view of the half-moon suspended like a jewel over the Duomo…. a spectacular homecoming gift from the sky. Weary from a long flight and an over-extended absence, I’ve been impatient to resume my life in Florence. As the plane hit ground, a sacred calm came over me. A feeling of complete catharsis. I couldn’t wait to turn the key to my apartment and to throw open the shutters of my living room window to take in the captivating view of the Duomo.  Happy to be back where I belong.

I woke up to the divine sounds of a new day…..the revitalizing echo of the Duomo bells and sparrows singing on the terracotta rooftops.  Although I was disoriented from jet lag, I was bursting with desire to get out and walk around my neighborhood, to surround myself with the powerful energy of Florence, to see my neighbors and local merchants and to buy some supplies.

Walking onto the street and entering my piazza was like walking onto a dance floor.  I was back in my own skin. I instantly felt different. I walked different, I acted different and smiled different. The verve of the city ignites me and provokes me to dance the same dance that everyone is dancing. There’s an omnipresent musical rhythm that pervades the atmosphere of Florence….something in the air, a buzz, a high, a connection between the people, a feeling of community and permanence that is very centering. You get the sense as you walk down the street that nobody is really “going” anywhere because they are already where they want to be.

I knew that athough I had a list of supplies to buy, I would probably never get any of it done. Which happens to me often because Florence has the power to hypnotize and distract me from what I’m supposed to be doing. It is part of her charm. The first thing I did was to stroll to my piazza to see if my bike was still there.  With the exception of a stolen bell and basket, it was intact.

Then I saw Carlo, the next-door artisan who buys and restores Italian antique furniture.  Like the other artisans and merchants on the block, the business has been in the family for generations. They are the very roots of the neighborhood.  He updated me on what’s been happening in the area since I’ve been gone and described the cold winter that I missed.  He also told me that he is closing shop and relocating to Via Tintori because he and 2 other artisans on the street can no longer afford the rent. I was saddened because they are the fabric of the neighborhood. This is an outcome of the distressed economy that has impacted all of  Florence. However, this is the first time that it’s actually affected my little part of town.  I am deeply saddened. It is really "hitting home".

It was so fulfilling to spiritually reconnect with my city, to hear the sounds of chatter, children, music, scooters and bikes, to hear the language around me again, to see the bright colors, to breathe the smells of food, coffee, lampredotto, and even to see the graffiti. I found myself taking photos of things that I never took photos of before.  I was so excited to be back.

As I headed for the market, Nicola called me and proposed a Sunday homecoming dinner at his home within the walls of San Casciano.  My mouth immediately started watering because every time I go, Nicoletta makes a seriously wonderful Tuscan meal and I get to play with and be entertained by their loveable children Cosimo and Costanza. They are like my own family.  Destiny brought us together on the very first day that I settled in Florence almost 4 years ago.  With them, I am truly at home.

Strolling further around my neighborhood, my florist Giovanni spotted me and presented me with a bunch of fragrant white stars.  Then I stopped in to see Antonio, my pizzichagnolo, who came from behind the counter and hugged me until we almost cried. I continued wandering around just to see who I would bump into next and I saw my next door neighbor Richard. We had a beer and chatted outside in the pizza when I saw Domenico, my favorite pizzaiouolo who works in the restaurant on the other side of the piazza.  So I stopped by to see him and he told me to come in for a dinner soon on the house.

I decided that I should get some things done, so I went to the market where I bumped into Luca, the owner of Florencetown, the company for which I guide bike tours.  He was buying food to prepare dinner for his girlfriend and explained the recipe for beef simmered in panna with capers, pepper and white wine. Italian men certainly know how to cook.  On my way back with some groceries, I stopped in to see my neighbor Samanta, for whom I brought a jar of Skippy peanut butter back from the U.S.  I also bumped into Patrizia and Sebastiano, other neighbors, although we didn't get the chance to talk.

Then I headed for my most sacred place, my sanctuary, a place that I first saw when I was 15 years old, never knowing that one day this would be my town hall.   This is the Palazzo Vecchio, where I received my Florentine residency after being bestowed my Italian citizenship 3 years ago. It feels like it is center of my world, a sacred place that exudes a powerful positive karma that enraptures my spirit. I was in complete peace.

Feeling this strong sense of tranquility, I was compelled to stop in my favorite little church, S. Maria Assunta, the oldest (circa 960A.D.) abbey in Florence.  I love it because it is small, quiet and always smells of incense, and I pass it so frequently that it has become a sort of spiritual watering hole for me. While I had my eyes closed in prayer, the monks and nuns started singing in 4 part harmony....I hadn't realized that I had arrived just in time for vespers, my most beloved of all church rituals in Florence.

After vespers I headed for the Arno on my bell-less and basket-less bike to feel the breeze of the Arno blowing through my hair, to see the moon rising above the river and to thank God for bringing me here. It has been a very successfulf 3 ½ years for me in Florence and I am only just beginning.

On Sunday, Cesare, a dear friend of the family who is also a widely acclaimed maestro and opera critic and perhaps the world's Mascagni authority, picked me up at my piazza and we drove to San Casciano for a wonderful bentornata feast at Nicola's and a very warm welcome back home. After dinner I accompanied Cesare to the piccolissimo borgo of Vicchio where a friend of his was the tenor playing Cavarodossi in the small local town production of Tosca.  It was a delightful conclusion to a very warm and happy homecoming.

It was a very long 2 months that I spent in the U.S.  It made me realize that I’ve become so deeply steeped in the Italian way of life that I feel a great sense of identity loss when I am in the U.S.  It is a strange feeling.  I don’t feel as comfortable there as I do in Italy, I don't feel like me.  I lose my energy and get a little depressed and lethargic when I'm there.  As much as I’ve stayed in touch with old friends who have been so close to me for so many years, over time the bond has diminished as my new life in Italy has replaced my whole lifetime in the U.S.  It appears that I have reached the point of no return.  It appears that there isn’t any “going back” anymore because that life, that space in time has faded too deeply into the past.  It is a bittersweet realization.

From The Outside Looking In

The longer I live in Italy the more difficult I find it to return to the U.S.  I was apprehensive about visiting for a full 2 months this time, since it’s been two years since I’ve been back, but damn, I have to get something done. Things naturally move very slowly in Italy.

Upon arriving in New York I immediately sensed the stress. I was overcome by a bizarre feeling of reverse culture shock which I still feel after 2 months. Has a mere 3 years of living in Italy changed me enough to make me feel like a stranger in my own native country? Why do I feel like I’m on the outside looking in?

I was immediately reminded how easy, automated, convenient, efficient and orderly everything is here. After hiring my rental car, I was spooked as the windshield wipers turned on automatically a few seconds before it started raining. The next day, approaching an intersection on my bike, the traffic light yelled at me to “wait!” There were video cameras everywhere controlling traffic, surveilling stores, walkways, even the bike paths. Instead of feeling protected, I was afraid to make a false move. And this is the land of the free. I noticed several times being followed by the county sheriff. The elevator asked me if I had a good day and what floor would I like to be left at. Good thing I don’t pick my nose while I think nobody is watching. Several times I had to apologize for my ignorance. There wasn’t a bar or café that didn’t have Wi-Fi.

In the grocery stores shoppers were scanning bar codes with their IPhones, not to calculate their spending, but to check the nutritional value and fat content of their groceries, where after getting lost for an hour and shell-shocked by the infinite choices, I forgot what I’d come for in the first place. So I grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir and found my way to the cash register where they checked me out with their bright white smiles in record time, bagged my purchases and assisted me to my car. I felt guilty, bored, spoiled and unchallenged. Why, oh why don’t I enjoy being treated like an American princess? I used to!!

I never took these things for granted. I knew I was asking for pain when I moved to Italy. Over the past 3 years I’ve been brain-washed to believe that things look better, work better, get done better and taste better only if you wait, suffer, fight, cry, wait, complain, argue, litigate, debate and wait more, only to get the wrong or inferior product or service at twice the price. We love pain and suffering. Mea culpa! It makes us feel more holy, worthy, deserving. It gives us a reason to go to church, light a candle and cry to the Madonna. My Italian friends think I’ve lost a screw having chosen to suffer when I could be in America snapping my fingers or making a phone call to get it done, fixed, delivered, refunded, picked up, installed. I am a masochist. They would trade places with me any day.

Since being here in the States I’ve on the other hand, been feeling offended by the pervasive propaganda that controls American buying behavior, convincing us that we need more stuff, bigger stuff and better stuff. We desire to consume enormous amounts of energy, drive enormous cars and buy and waste enormous quantities of food. You can’t just buy a head of lattuga, you must buy 4. Products are sold in exponential quantities, pecks, crates, family packs, big lots, party packs, cartons, king size portions, 20 for the price of 10. The only thing that gets sold by the gram here is saffron. Even Weight Watchers frozen meals are twice the size and calories of yesteryear. Shopping can be accomplished monthly with a mere gas guzzling mack truck, and an extra refrigerator in the 3 car garage. No need to worry about a tsunami, earthquake or flood. The choices are endless, every possible ethnic variety of food, prepackaged, ready to nuke for dinner on the run. No more do we cook. How boring. How mechanical.

I had sworn to avoid stores like COSTCO, but felt it necessary to see what’s new in American culture and entertainment. So, I borrowed a COSTCO card. After only a few minutes in the store, I honestly started to feel sweaty and faint, kind of like Stendahl Syndrome but I wasn’t in the Uffizi. I was experiencing American consumer overload. I thought about my little market in Florence and missing it, bolted for the parking lot.

I must say that technologically, Italy has plunged me into a regressive abyss. I was excited to come here to find out what I’ve been missing during my 2 year absence. It pretty much boiled down to an IPad and stereo bluetooth earphones. A few cram computer courses brought me right up to date and when I arrive back in Italy next week I will be bleeding edge.

Driving in the California desert, the environment is meticulous, perfectly landscaped, litter-less and graffiti-less. The weather is perfect and predictable. People’s teeth are perfect and everyone’s bodies are lean and mean, the way mine used to be before I lusted to live in Italy. Eating is scientific, based on nutritional content rather than gluttonous appreciation for food. I was shell-shocked to see that every restaurant menu had the calories indicated for each dish. I learned that this is becoming the norm. We Italians don’t know what a calorie is…. And just forget the food pyramid. Lard, lard and more lard.

I treated myself to another great American pastime and went to a gym where I have a lifetime membership. When I showed my card at the desk, they confiscated it, tore it up, fingerprinted me and explained the new fingerprint entry scanner. Unlike the health clubs in Italy, women actually come here to work out and sweat instead of walking around in sequened studs to look at themselves in the mirrors. But where is the balance? In Italy the women won’t sweat. In America they sweat until they vomit. Today I observed a super-athlete running a marathon on the treadmill and later saw her vomiting in the locker room from working out too hard. In America, this is considered to be admirable and good.

Don’t let me get on the subject of American T.V. The Italians think their television choices are bad, so they all watch dubbed American films from the 80’s. They’ll stop imitating us when they see the trashy disgraceful "The Bachelor" or "The Jersey Shore."   Television entertainment reflects the culture of the people and American T.V. does not make me proud to be an American.  On the other hand, Italian T.V. offeres an abbondance of classic films, outstanding cooking shows, opera, art and cultural documentaries, game shows that quiz the common people about their culture, food and customs, and talent shows that allow people to sing, dance and make complete fools out of themselves.Italian style!

So, what else did I do while in the U.S.? I rode a bike, watched the spectacular Pacific sunsets, had a blast with old friends, worked on a presentation for the Italian Cultural Center in San Diego, got a perfect manicure, went to a mall and stocked up on vitamins, make-up and Power Bars, bought a shower massage that I can’t find in Italy, and even got a dental implant. I got more accomplished in 2 weeks than in the past year in Italy.

HOWEVER……much to my dismay…… I noticed something that I never would have noticed if I didn’t live in Italy. Something is missing here in America.  Something BIG.   Something that glues and connects the Italian culture to itself. Something that in order to be a culture, we can’t and shouldn’t live without.  Our old people and our handicapped people.

Of all the things that make me cry about America, this is to me, the gravest sin of all. Where are our grandparents? Where are our elders? Where are they? For the past 2 months I have not seen an old lady with a cane shopping in the stores. I have not seen an elderly couple locked arm-in-arm limping with smiles along the street.   I have not seen a single grandchild holding the hands of their nonni. I have not seen a single 70 year-old walking around the malls.  There are only two possible reasons. They either don’t exist or they are hiding. They are not integrated in the fabric of the people. I am sure that they are not all dead. They are hidden in nursing homes, segregated from their children in Leisure World communities, being taken care of by someone else but their families.  In America it seems to me (now from the outside) that our grandparents are completely disengaged from the core.  Disgarded? Removed?  Whether the choice to live apart from their families is theirs or the choice of their children they are just NOT THERE.  Perhaps one of the most beautiful things about Italy is the tribal nature of the family... where grandma and grandpa are literally at your side until the day they are buried.  And then they are ritualistically visited, on Sunday.  Always there and never forgotten.  Where have we Americans put our grandparents?  Whew! 

Monday I leave to go back home. I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed, to hear the birds in the morning and the bells of the Duomo. Back to the country that nourishes my soul and feeds my heart.

Buon Anno Nuovo!

Happy New Year from Solana Beach, California, where this photo is the view from my temporary "house swap" winter home. It's almost 3pm here on New Year's Eve, and almost midnight in Florence. Yet that is where my thoughts are.  I can see, hear and feel the celebration, the music and fireworks taking place in Piazza Signoria at this very moment.  Where I've rang in the New Year for the past 3 years.  I miss it, I miss everyone, yet looking forward to celebrating New Year's Eve later tonight from a very different perspective, at a beach party on the bluff at Dana Point in a world far away from Florence.

To all my friends near and far, I wish you all a serene and happy 2012.

Hard to Leave Florence at Christmas

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Counting down the hours until my departure and deeply missing Florence already. When a San Diego friend proposed a house-swap for the winter, it seemed perfect, since my work is seasonal and I have the time off.  Spending Christmas in New York with my family and then heading to California for 6 weeks in a house perched on a bluff above the Pacific.... falling asleep to the sound of crashing waves...watching the sunset over the ocean...it sounded ideal, but I still had to contemplate. 

I was looking for excuses to say no, but the idea, within hours, instantly came together.  I was offered a choice of several projects to work on for a director of the Italian Cultural Center in San Diego.  It sounded like the ultimate combination.  I could stay connected with my life in Italy by working for the Italian-American community.  At the same time, I could spend days of surf, turf and cycling with long-missed friends in the perfect winter climate.  I still hesitiated.  But when, with unusual ease the perfect frequent flyer itinerary materialized, "maybe" became "yes".  I couldn't think of another excuse not to go.

With only 2 days to go, the only thing I've packed are Christmas gifts....about 50lbs. of Tuscan food! My house-exchange guest is arriving tomorrow from San Diego and I still have to pack clothes for opposing climates... New York and San Diego.  Yikes! Perhaps I'm procrastinating because I don't want to leave Florence as the Christmas season heads for its crescendo.

Every year Christmas becomes more spectacular in Florence.  It started earlier this year, two weeks before the Feast of the Immaculate Conception on December 8th.  Fairs, concerts, lights strung on every street, Christmas trees towering in every piazza, every shop dressed up in colors, music in the streets.  I love it even more because I know what I'll be missing, after 3 years spending Christmas in the city that has become my home.

Though very hard to detach from Florence, once on the plane, I'll be looking forward to Christmas in New York with my family.  I want to smell the scent of fresh-cut pine Christmas trees and feel the cold...perhaps some snow?   I'll be ending my Christmas in Florence with Sunday dinner in San Casciano with friends, topped off  by an evening at Teatro Comunale to see The Nutcracker by the Kiev Ballet. It will be a delightful way to end my Christmas season in Florence.

I will miss all the non-stop Christmas events that are happening in the city until the Ephiphany. I will miss waking up to the thunder of bells ringing from from every church in Florence on Christmas morning.  This will be the last blog post that I will write for a while, but I will definitely be writing while in the States. Probably about how much I miss Florence.  Buone Feste!