Day Five—October 4, 2007
It’s the penultimate day of my vacation (I don’t count the entire day spent flying back, since that was pretty much a lost day), and on the menu is the chunky goodness that is Fiery Firenze, Florid Florence, the Tinseltown of Tuscany.
Few things can actually make me feel good about waking up. The gentle nuzzling of a kitten (as opposed to the smothering of fat cat butt in your face), the warm feeling of a loved one’s arms around you (as opposed to the sharp jab of their elbow into your side), the gentle pitter patter of rain when you realize it’s the weekend and you can sleep in late (as opposed to realizing your alarm didn’t go off last night and it’s Monday and the snow’s already 2’ deep)...yes, that sort of thing. And to this I can add the smell of fresh baked croissants. It just so happened that our room was almost directly over the kitchen, and it was still dark outside when I started smelling the delightfully delicate scent of some lovin’ from the oven. (There’s a reason my bitter half calls me a bread whore...I do so love my baked goods, carbs be damned.)
Breakfast, without a doubt, was most tasty.
We left Torbole before most of the locals were awake, so we didn’t see much that was different from what we saw coming in. We didn’t get a chance to go by Lake Garda again, so I couldn’t tell whether the hazy fog-shrouded morning look of the lake was any different than the hazy fog-shrouded evening look of the lake. But no matter...we were on to Florence, the heart of the Italian Renaissance.
And, it would turn out, the central location for the Invasion of Italian Mosquitoes upon my person. But more on that later.
While I’m at it, I should probably mention that the humidity level in Florence was almost as bad as having a fine spray of hot, sticky honey covering you. I don’t do well with humidity as it is, but it’s true what you’ve heard about Tuscany: it’s quite lovely.
Florence started out as a Roman soldiers’ settlement established by Julius Caesar. Because of the Rose Parade-quantity of flowers all around, he named it “Florentia,” which more or less means “flowery” or “flowering.”
It’s a couple hours drive from Lake Garda to Florence, and we got into town around late morning. Again, due to the narrow width of most Italian city streets, we’d be taking a walking tour. We were given about 45 minutes or so to grab a quick bite before meeting up with our local guide Francesca to go check out David’s cojones (well, I mean, c’mon, they’re right there).
We were dropped off for lunch at St. Mark’s Square (the Florentine version is significantly smaller than the Venetian version). Small shops surrounded the square, and we grabbed a couple of panini sammiches and some indulgent cannelloni. As my Mom sat near a statue of Manfredo Fanti (an important Italian general throughout the ongoing Italian Risorgimento struggles for independence against Austria during the 18th century...his star is usually overshadowed by Garibaldi and his Red Shirts in the south) and hobnobbed with a couple of Canadians from our group, I once again braved the International Phone System to call home and see how things were holding up. My bitter half asked where I was today. “Florence,” I said. “We’re going to go see David soon.” “David’s CENSORED FOR YOUR PROTECTION, you mean,” he said. Well, shyeah, I mean it’s right there.
Michelangelo wasn’t the first choice for the sculptor of David. As part of a massive Fine Arts project commissioned by various Florentine big wigs to decorate the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, the work had been started about 40-odd years before Michelangelo got his hands on the honkin’ huge block of Carrara marble that would end up as what is quite possibly his most famous sculpture. When he first received it, some chipping had been done near the base of the marble block, but nothing terribly definite.
Michelangelo is on the record as saying that his approach to sculpture is that the work is already completely formed in the marble, and all he does is chip away until the work emerges.
Be that as it may, Florence wouldn’t know what hit it when the then 26-year old local boy started working on it.
The ramifications soon spread throughout most of Europe, and eventually the world.
I’m not an art critic, nor do I play one on TV, but I know what pleases my eye. David very much does so. Impressive is far too modest a term to describe it. And, yes, he’s huge. Apart from a slight dimpled imperfection near the right scapula (the marble block wasn’t quite big enough), David is well nigh flawless.
David is often touted as the symbol of the Italian Renaissance. I’m not going to go into a historical lesson here, but without the Renaissance, it’s very unlikely our western world would be as it is today. Sure there’s plenty that’s mucked up about our modern world, but in terms of critical thinking and expression, I for one am glad it happened. Maybe it’s time for another one.
At any rate, after completion David sat just outside the Palazzo Vecchio in the Piazza della Signoria—in the open air, with not even a fig leaf for protection—for nearly 400 years. There’s a full-sized replica there now.
Then one day, after nearly 400 years enjoying the Florentine open air, it was decided that David would be given room and board in the Accademia dell’Arte del Disegno, Europe’s first academy of drawing (so, do YOU have what it takes to be a serious art student?) set up by the Medici family.
You do not win a prize if you guess that photography is strictly prohibited in the Accademia dell’Arte. So I have no naughty pictures of David.
And we moved on to what is quite possibly the architectural landmark of the Florentine skyline: the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore. In tasteful white, green, and pink marble.
Keeping this white, green, and pink marble clean is no easy task, as Florence tries to win the endless battle of preserving Santa Maria del Fiore, but since it took well over a hundred years to construct it, a little upkeep here and there is naturally called for.
The, well, main pointy things of the Santa Maria del Fiore are Giotto’s Bell Tower and the Duomo by Brunelleschi. The dome at St. Peter’s in Rome is a bit bigger than the Duomo, but the Duomo held the world’s biggest church dome title for about 150 years.
We got to take an all-too-brief peek at the interior of Santa Maria del Fiore, so fast indeed that practically all my pictures came out blurry, showing the great speed with which we toured the interior (which you couldn’t really tell from the huge clock inside, since it only has one hand that moves every 24 hours). I didn’t even get a chance to get a good look at the Last Judgment painting that adorns the underside of the Duomo. So much to see, and never enough time.
Just outside the Santa Maria del Fiore is the Piazza del Duomo. Here you will find what is commonly believed to be the oldest building in Florence: the Battistero di San Giovanni. St. John’s Baptistry is in the shape of an octagon. Whether Chuck Norris was skulking around there is something I’ll never know, due to the overwhelming crush of humanity that was trying to get a look at Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise, gilded bronze doors which are also known as the East Doors. (Actually, these are replicas of the original gilded bronze doors, which had to be taken out of the open air in order to preserve them.) The East Doors/Gates of Paradise depict scenes from the Old Testament, in super cool raised detail, whereas the other gilded bronze doors of the Baptistry (South Doors and North Doors) get their inspiration from the New Testament and the lives of various saints, including St. John the Baptist.
The Gates of Paradise are quite a tourist draw, and if you’re lucky enough to get close enough long enough to get a decent view, all the more power to you.
It was at this point that a member of our group decided to wander off and get lost in the crowd. So here is as good a point as any to take a bit of a break before cranking things up again...
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