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My Quest to Become Italian: Sabbatical in Italy (1975)

Italy—the land of my dreams. Italy first spoke to me on one brief visit to Rome and Florence over spring break, 1974, summoning me to spend the long sabbatical winter term of 1975 becoming Italian. So I returned in March of 75, after studying Italian, and reading everything I could find about Italy. It would be my year of living wildly, dangerously, since I was far from home and from my anxious mother, who monitored me by long distance, steering me along conventional paths. In the 8 years since I left the convent, I had taken cautious and practical steps to make sure my mother didn’t have anything to worry about, from me at least—I had gotten a PhD, become a tenured professor, even bought a condo in a good neighborhood, overlooking Lake Michigan. Now that I had satisfied all her desires, I could satisfy my own desire to become Italian—at least in my imagination. I would truly cut loose and listen to my inner Italian drummer. I would spread my wings and fly—to Italy, the land of my dreams—the land of Tuscan villas and Venetian gondolas; of Dante and Michelangelo; beauty and romance. I would become the heroine of my own Portrait of a Lady. As Ralph Touchette wanted to bequeath his fortune to his cousin Isabel Archer so that she could explore Italy and expand to the limits of her own innate interests and abilities; my small fortune (the slender savings I had amassed in my years as an assistant professor) would afford me the same opportunities that Isabel had—the luxury enjoyed by all those rich young men who made their grand tours of Italy in the 19th century. Unlike Isabel, of course, I had no chaperon and could set my own schedule. I could walk all over Florence, travel all over Italy and Greece, gaining confidence in my own powers of judgment of what was best and most beautiful I could set my own schedule, choose my own course, interact directly, without an intermediary. I didn’t need a Gilbert Osmond to educate and broaden me. I would discriminate using my own judgment, seeking what was most beautiful and noble. I may have been from Kansas City, but I had lived in Chicago for 8 years. I was ready to move into a more sophisticated culture. I trusted my judgment. I felt at home everywhere. In my eyes, I was a citizen of the world. It isn’t often that one does something when one is 44 that rewards one when one is 74. In Italy I kept a daily journal (as I had done in Spain 8 years earlier), and when I returned I put it in a drawer along with all the souvenirs from that marvelous trip, like a treasure hermetically sealed, waiting to be opened again. And 30 years later, after I had retired, when I had leisure, I opened it and the savor engulfed me. I am touching a cross. For 30 years it has hung around my neck. I have owned many other pieces of jewelry over the years, but somehow this small Byzantine cross with diamonds and one central ruby has become my one ornament, with the memory attached to it, of my annus mirabilis.

********************* Seven years teaching English at Chicago State University and I was at O’Hare airport on March 17, with my boyfriend, waiting to depart on a flight to Luxembourg on Icelandic, the cheap airline in those days. Bob didn’t want me to go. Why would I want to leave him, he wondered. The cautious, practical side of my nature wondered too. It was a lot easier to stay in Chicago. Fortunately, it was too late. I had to go. I had everything all planned. I had looked forward to this for so long I had made a detailed itinerary showing where I’d be every day and given it to my family and friends along with American Express addresses where I would look for mail. I’d said goodbye to everyone. It was too late to back out. “It’s never too late.” But it was too late. I had to go. I had to keep my date with Italy.

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While Bob and I tried to find ways to reassure each other that this would be over before we knew it and I would be back home, we watched an Irish family with 10 children, all dressed in green for St. Patrick’s Day, proclaiming they had had enough of the U.S. and were emigrating to Ireland. Here were these good people uprooting their entire lives, and I was anxious about leaving for a few months.

Lucerne (March 19-21)

Luxembourg, where Icelandic Air landed, was dirty and noisy and snowing, so I took the TEE through a snowy France to snowier Lucerne. I descended from the train and walked across the street right into the Walkstätterhof, a quiet hotel across from the Bahnhof. I loved Lucerne immediately, with its swans on the lake and medieval bridges and buildings. I walked around, entranced by the medieval towers and onion domes. Nothing German had appealed to me since the war, but suddenly I even loved the German names—St. Peterskapelle,

Hofkirche, Rittersche Palace, Franciscaner Kirche, Seebrucke, Kapellbrucke, Wasserturm. This seemeed like Vienna—light-hearted and free. I had Rahmschnitzel and beer with apple strudel for dessert. That first evening I even saw a gay performance of Wienerblut at the Stadttheater. And suddenly—my anxiety was over. I was glad I had come! I was launched. A couple from Rhodesia sat next to me in the box seat and suggested I climb Mt. Pilatus. Mt. Pilatus hadn’t been on my itinerary, but I put it there immediately. The next morning (March 20) I took Bus #1 from Lucerne to Kriens and got the individual ski gondola first, then the cablecar up Mt. Pilatus. A skier from Kriens spoke Italian with me—my first use of Italian! The cablecar ride up is about a half an hour—a near vertical ascent. Everyone stood up—there weren’t any seats back then. I have a fear of heights and the view out the window terrified me. A couple in our gondola, seeing my anxiety, reassured me. Finally, we reached the hotel at the summit, where it says Pilatus=Kulm. I felt like I was standing on the rooftop of the world.

A sign up there identified the Alps mountains we could see-- the Eiger, Monch, and Jungfrau; the Matterhorn (!) Mont Blanc—names I had read in travel books I loved, like Richard Halliburton’s Royal Road to Romance: "I hungered for the romance of great mountains. From childhood I had dreamed of climbing Fujiyama and the Matterhorn, and had planned to charge Mount Olympus in order to visit the gods that dwelled there. I wanted to swim the Hellespont … float down the Nile in a butterfly boat, make love to a pale Kashmiri maiden beside the Shalimar, dance to the castanets of Granada gypsies, commune in solitude with the moonlit Taj Mahal, hunt tigers in a Bengal jungle — try everything once." My hero!

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Atop Mt. Pilatus I had lunch at the hotel, sunbathed on the deck, watched a helicopter from Bern with a French general land at the heliport. His excuse was that he wanted to take a look at the radar installation. Likely story! We also watched a ski race from Gardena, Italy. The ride down in the cablecar took only about 10 minutes it seemed—Swoosh! the most thrilling 10 minutes of the trip so far. This was only my third day, and the trip was already worth it. I had a deep feeling of satisfaction. I had been to the top of the Alps--Mt.

Pilatus was my mountain. I had seen the Matterhorn, the Jungfrau, Mont Blanc, that the poets wrote about. Already I had had a peak experience, one I would always remember. I never needed to climb to the top of the world again. Back in Lucerne, I wandered about, crossing the wooden covered bridge (the Kapellbrucke), feeding the swans. It was hard to decide which pleasure I would seek next—perhaps a lake excursion?-- before I went to Italy. For dinner I had felchen mit zucarat mit kartolfen (fish with sauce and potatoes). The next day was cloudy, not a nice day for a lake excursion. At breakfast I met an American, David Campbell, from Independence, Missouri, who had been on the Icelandic flight with me and was staying at my hotel. After going to get my hair done at the National Institute of Coiffure, nearby on the Hirschmatstrasse and lunching on crackers and cheese, I strolled around the quais, up to the Hofkirche, down the Schweitzerhofquai, up to the city wall, down into the city, to the Schwanenplatz, where I saw a magic bus driven by a driver attired in Tyrolean costume. I hopped on for a free ride around town. David Campbell showed up, hopped on the bus, and together we toured about, getting off at the Mublenplatz, crossing another covered bridge, heading up to Chateau Gutsch, where I took pictures. We teamed up, being from the same home town practically. After dinner, we walked around the old section, across to the new, had a beer and finally wound up at the Cine Modern, where we saw titled Gewalt und Leidenschaft (Violence and Passion) with Helmut Berger. It was a 1974 film by Luchino Visconti, originally in Italian: Gruppo di Famiglia in un Interno, dubbed into English as Conversation Piece. There was something satisfyingly international to be sitting at a movie in Switzerland next to someone from my home town watching an Italian film with a German name, dubbed into English, with French and German subtitles.

Como on Palm Sunday (March 22-23) David was looking for a plan and I had one. When he heard I was heading south into Italy, he invited himself along, and we left on the 10:23 a.m. train for Milan, planning to get off in Como.

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The Swiss Alps by train is one of the great train rides, with little picturesque churches nestled in the valleys. Adventure awaited us right across the Italian border. At Chiasso, police checking our passports stopped David, claiming that the ink on his passport was not the same color as on mine. They assumed we were together so held me as an accomplice. This might have been amusing, but they kept us there for two hours, until they realized that the David R. Campbell they were looking for was born on November 11th , not the 13th, and they let us go. We got to Como about 4:30p.m. and found 2 rooms senza bagno at the Hotel Plinius on Via Garibaldi. At the Piazza Cavour we had cappuccinos and pastacinni and laughed about the mixup—I was home at last! We bought a bottle of wine and some cheese to take back to the hotel before dinner to celebrate our successfully crossing the Alps and arriving in Italy. Como was not a place I had looked anticipated visiting, but every town in Italy is charming; besides, it was the beginning of Holy Week, and in Italy, no holy day goes uncelebrated and Palm Sunday was guaranteed a parade. At ten o’clock the whole town assembled in the square starting in the church of San Jacobi, circling around the piazza waving their branches and chanting and then parading into the Duomo for Mass.

I hadn’t gotten that cruise of Lake Lucerne, but here was another lake—Como. Sunday afternoon was ideal for a cruise

on Lake Como out to Belaggio. The shoreline was thrilling, the plunging hills, dotted with incredible villas that were more than anyone could dream of. Even to be able to see them was

more than I ever expected in life. Italy was just divine! I took pictures of as many as I could. I was heading to Florence, so David tagged along again the next morning, helpfully carrying my suitcase. (Getting enough clothes to last from winter thru to summer into one suitcase had been a challenge, so my case wasn’t light.) We left Como at 10:50, arriving Milan at 11:30, where we bought lunch, then took the 1300 express train to Firenze. In our car were two girls, one Austrian, one Norwegian, off to Florence for the Easter holidays. The scenery began to change from the mountains to the flat plains of the Po Valley, then back to mountains after Bologna, and finally we arrived in Florence at 4:30. We took a cab to the inexpensive pensione that the girls had recommended, but it was full (and dreadful), so we went instead to the more

expensive Berchielli, a lovely hotel on Lungarno Acciaiuoli between the Ponte Santa Trinita and the Ponte Vecchio. The Berchielli is a wonderful old hotel where we somehow got two single rooms for 5000 lire each. (Rooms in Como had been 5500 per night. The dollar was worth about 600 lira back then, so 5000 lira was under $9.) I planned on staying longer than David, and was

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told they would be fully booked the week after Easter and I’d need to find another hotel—e.g. Albergo Porto Rossa. I didn’t want to leave the Berchielli.

Holy Week in Florence (March 24-29)

It was Holy Week, and Florence was already packed for the holidays. How lucky we

were to have found rooms! I had wanted to be in Florence for all the festivities of Easter. David had never been to Florence, so I was glad to play the cicerone. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday we spent time in all the places I had first seen on my trip in May 1974—the Duomo, the Bargello, Palazzo Vecchio, Ponte Vecchio, Pte Sta Trinita, even my favorite Palazzo Davanzati. The Straw Market, Orsanmichelle, Casa di Dante, the Medici-Riccardi Palace (where I got to see the Gozzoli frescoes in the chapel). The Medici Chapel was alas closed. I went to Mass at the Duomo while Dave climbed the tower. Everywhere I took pictures. We took a bus to Fiesole, toured the Teatro Romano, then took the bus back and photographed the Duomo, Palazzo Vecchio, Santa Croce, the Pazzi Chapel and Refectory. We spent one whole day at the Accademia looking at the Michaelangelo sculptures, and at the nearby Convento San Marco to see the Fra Angelicos, then to the Uffizi. We took Bus #13 to the Piazzale Michelangelo to photograph the view of Florence. I just loved walking the narrow winding medieval streets, imagining myself back in the time of Dante.

After visiting all the art that had three, two or even one star in the Michelin green guide, what was left but to get down to the real business of Florence—shopping. David was heading to Rome and wanted to take his mother a present, so that started us looking—at copper wares, bookbinding, jewelry, lace, leather goods, silk, embossed trays, and straw items for ideas. He picked out an embossed tray and a Kleenex box and mailed them from the post office, and then left for Rome Thursday morning.

Without David, I concentrated on what I was especially interested in—sculpture. At the Bargello, the Verocchio and Cellini rooms were closed, and I settled for the Donatellos—David, St. George, John the Baptist, wishing I had brought my drawing materials.

I had noticed that the Italian women were much better dressed than I was. They were all wearing skirts and nice shoes and bags—not the utilitarian pants suits that I had brought. It was time I updated my wardrobe if I wanted to be Italian. I needed a skirt and top and shoes with some style. Ada, my neighbor, had given me money to buy a gold charm on the Ponte Vecchio, so off I went to shop. I was shocked at the prices. Skirts were $60-$70! I did find a nice pair of

shoes for $25, laying the foundation for my new Italian wardrobe. After buying a charm for Ada, I strolled across the Arno and down Via Guicciardini and there was the Pitti Palace-- my shopping was put on hold. http://www.mega.it/eng/egui/monu/pitt.htm The Medicis bought the palace in 1550 and redesigned the gardens. As it was too late to tour the museum, I settled for the Boboli Gardens , which were grand and amazing. http://www.mega.it/eng/egui/monu/pittbobo.htm

After brushing off a fresh guard who wanted to show me the affreschi (frescoes)—or rather to brush against me in the dark—I resumed my shopping,

then, hearing church bells, and seeing it was 6 o’clock, I found that Mass was about to begin at the Chiesa Sta. Spiritu. It was Holy Thursday, so how fortunate was that! It was darkish by then, and without the sun, those old stone churches are freezing in late March. There was an ad for an organ and soprano concert later that evening nearby at San Jacopo Soprarno at 9:15. I was tempted, even though I knew it would be freezing. And do you know—

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after eating dinner at a self-service place on the southeast side of the Ponte Vecchio, (I had vitello, piselli, insalata verde, panini and un quarto litro vino rosa for only 1400 lire, with a view of the Ponte Vecchio thrown in) and donning another clothes layer back at my conveniently nearby hotel--I went! The concert was Holy Thursday music (organist, soprano and choir) in the restored romanesque church of San Jacopo Soprarno. It is only open for concerts and exhibitions. http://www.firenze-oltrarno.net/english/arte/t-jacop.html.

Good Friday—I visited the Pitti Palace, which had been closed the day before. I loved the Andrea del Sartos, the Raphaels and Titians and spent two hours going through. Then I walked over to Sta Croce, looking for something religious to take part in—Stations of the Cross, Mass, whatever. Nothing, so I went back to shopping--the last refuge of the tired tourist. Sure enough, I found my skirt for only $35 and wore it out to dinner that evening where I met Bernie from Pittsburgh, who must have thought I looked charming in my new Italian skirt and shoes, for he not only paid for my dinner but took me to see L’Inferno di Cristallo (Towering Inferno) in Italian. I suppose my mother wouldn’t have approved of my having dinner and going to a movie with a perfect stranger, but I have always been very trusting; I speak to people and like to do things with others. Besides I was 44, and not afraid of anything. Holy Saturday-- I was up early packing my winter clothes, which I wanted to get rid of to make room for the new Italian wardrobe I hoped to buy. I mailed the box to my neighbor. In the grand plan I had made before coming, (from which I had already widely departed), I was going to make Florence my base and travel around Tuscany, seeing San Gimignano, Siena, Perugia, Assisi, etc. on the way down to Rome. Always planning ahead, I checked the buses and trains, especially for Siena and found there was an express bus. It was a rainy day, and most of the museums were closed, so I walked around looking at all the pastecherria or pastry shops with their pascal lambs. The Mass schedule said the Pascal Vigil Mass was at 11 p.m., so I rested until 8:45, and at dinner ran into a Swiss fellow from my hotel who was also heading to the duomo. Seeing the Palazzo Vecchio all decorated with torches in every crevice, we realized something grand was afoot. We entered and found a concert was to begin at 9 p.m. in the Hall of Hundreds. The Edinburgh School choir was there. They began with folk songs, then went on to greater things --Beethoven’s 9th Choral section. My Swiss friend and I snickered. Then when a tuba solo followed, we burst right out laughing. This delightful program concluded with some Scottish songs, a Highland fling and bagpipes. We escaped about 10 and went looking for somewhere to eat, but most places were closed by then. Luckily we found one, after which we went to the Duomo for 11 p.m. Mass, which lasted until 1:30. After a cognac we were back at the hotel by 1:30. During the night I received a call from Muriel Lippman in the States who said she would be arriving in Rome at 10:45 a.m. on April 15, on TWA flight 890. This was a complete shock, but it would be fun to have a companion for Rome. Easter --The Scoppio del Carro (March 30) Having gotten to bed so late after the Pascal Vigil, I wasn’t in any rush to get up early on Easter Sunday, and slept in until 9. While I was still dressing I heard trumpets sounding outside my window. I was on the second floor, facing north, and looked down onto the small square of SS Apostoli, tucked in behind the Berchielli. There, in the entrance of the small church of the Holy Apostles, a procession of dignitaries in medieval

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clothing wearing official insignia were emerging, carrying something, accompanied by an honor guard carrying medieval banners and trumpets. Ah, the city leaders, I thought. I ran out around to the church and followed the procession, which led to the Duomo. The Scoppio del Carro, the “explosion of the cart.” I knew all about that from my Italian reader. It originated with Pazzino de'Pazzi, a Florentine warrior who was the first man to climb the walls of Jerusalem in July 1099, during the First Crusade. For this deed he received from his commander two shards of stone from the Holy Sepulchre, shards which were subsequently used to start an annual "holy fire" during Holy Week. This ritual fire, was transported through the city as a religious relic for all to see. By the Middle Ages this "holy flame" had come to be transported in a Carro, a simple carriage that transported a large candle through town on the 24 June, day of Saint John the Baptist, patron saint of Florence. Every Easter morning a procession is held in the city of Florence. Starting at the church of the SS Apostoli an elaborate cart, which is called the Brindellone, is pulled by oxen decorated with flowers. The oxen pull the cart through the city until it reaches the Piazza del Duomo. Once the cart reaches the Piazza the oxen are unhooked from the cart and a wire is attached to it. The wire extends from the cart all the way to altar of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. On the wire in the Cathedral is a rocket that has the appearance of a white dove, which is referred to as the colombina. During the celebration of Easter mass the fuse is lit by a fire that was created by the very same splinters that Pazzino donated to the city and the dove is sent on its way to ignite the cart setting off a spectacular explosion. According to popular legend if all goes well and the cart explodes, it means a very prosperous year for the Florentines. The procession arrived at the Duomo about 11:20. Stands for seating were erected all around the Piazza del Duomo. I asked about a seat, and, although someone said they were sold out, I got a ticket in the second stand, right in the second row, a wonderful place from which to see and take pictures. After the usual flag shows, at exactly noon, the dove came shooting out of the cathedral door right and hit the cart and began setting off explosions, starting with the lowest rungs first. Everyone cheered, for the year, with that good omen, would be a prosperous one. The explosions moved up and up the tower, getting louder and louder, until they reached the top which all began exploding and whirling about. When the last explosion was finished, small flags shot up from the top like a crown, the spinning stopped. And all that was left was to lead the oxen out and hitch them back up to the cart and take it away. It was totally marvelous.

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After that all the explosions and and the thrilling climax, I felt as exhilarated as I had when I stood on the top of the world in Switzerland and looked out over the Alps—as if some divine blessing had been showered upon me. After an afternoon rest, I went out looking at Palazzos—Palazzo Antinor, Palazzo Strozzi, Palazzo Rucellai—all closed of course, but I could look at them from the outside. The Palazzo Davanzati was closed due to “mancanza delle personelle.” I decided too late that I wanted to eat at the Grotto Guelfo but-- too bad--it closed early for Easter. Finding a restaurant after 3 p.m. on Easter is not easy, but of course, there’s always some place, if you try hard enough, and I found an inexpensive one where I could get my favorite dishes—veal scallopini, spaghetti, and wine with a reasonable cover, for a reasonable price. After that I thought “the only places open now are churches,” so I headed toward the Chiesa del Carmine to look at the Masaccio’s and found there was a 5:30 p.m. Mass. That’s another wonderful thing about Italy. I was always running into Masses; I didn’t have to look for them. In fact, everything seemed to be falling into my lap. My months of planning had gone out the window but what came in instead was a reality even more delightful.

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Everything was closed on Easter afternoon, so what better to do than stroll and enjoy the lungarno and the bridges across the Arno. I’m always checking out other places to stay—and saw several that looked interesting—Pensione Silla. I might need someplace else to stay when Muriel came, in case the Berchielli was full. That evening I walked my usual route along the Arno and found that everyone in Florence seemed to be out walking. I got this beautiful shot of the Arno at sunset.

Back at the hotel that night I added up everything I had spent and realized that I was getting by on about $25 a day, including hotels, meals and cigarettes! Meals were averaging under $3. It’s amazing to think of that now, when a hotel room in Florence is about ten times that for one day. Muriel would be happy to hear that.

Easter Week (March 31-April 3) I rose Monday at 7:30, determined to get on with my plan to see more of northern Italy, using

Florence as my base, going to Siena, San Gimignano, Perugia, Bologna and Ravenna, and leaving my luggage at the Berchielli, which had agreed I could store my things there. With my usual planning zeal, I went to the train station at Sta Maria Novella but found that Ciat, the Italian travel bus agency, (out of business now, but vintage brochures are available on eBay) was closed on the day after Easter. However I learned that there was a train to Ravenna leaving at 6:39 a.m. every day. As long as I was at the church of Sta Maria Novella, I might as well look through it thoroughly. The guidebook said it “was designed by the Florentine humanist Leon Battista Alberti, one of the most brilliant men of the Quattrocento. The spacious Gothic interior is a treasure house of Renaissance art. The finest works of art are Masaccio's monumental and sombre fresco of the Trinity with the Virgin and St John, halfway up the left aisle, Brunelleschi's Crucifix in the left transept, which so surprised his friend Donatello when he first saw it that he dropped the basket of eggs he was carrying, and Domenico Ghirlandaio's charming frescoes of the Lives of St John the Baptist and the Virgin in the chancel, where the scenes are transposed into the streets of Florence in the 1480s. Filippino Lippi's frescoes next door, painted a decade later, after the Medici had been overthrown, are much more anguished. The Chiostro Verde (Green Cloister) adjoining the church contains Uccello's an extraordinarily powerful fresco of the Deluge, dating from the 1420s, and the Spanish Chapel, with Andrea da Firenze's depictions of the triumph of the Dominican order.” A visit to one church in Florence can be worth the price of the entire trip. Having had my cultural experience for the day, and feeling that I was in the “topping-off” phase of my Florence experience, I looked ahead to the two weeks before Muriel’s visit. If I left on April 3, I could see northern Italy before heading south to Rome to meet Muriel. I would go to Ravenna to see all the mosaics; then to Urbino to see the castle where Castiglione’s Courtier was written; then to San Marino, the walled state; to Bologna, the university city; then back to Florence to pick up my luggage, and from Florence to a 3-day stay in Siena including a day at San Gimignano;

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then down to Perugia, and on to Assissi for two days and then arrive in Rome on April 14. I had the exact days all worked out, but a plan is just a starting place.

Where would Muriel and I stay in Rome? I had heard someone speak of the Pensione Erdarelli, at 28 Via Due Macellai, Rome, near the Spanish steps, so I asked the concierge to phone and reserve a single for April 14 and a double for the 15-18, after Muriel arrived. With so much accomplished for the day, I had a lasagna, chicken and peas at a self-service restaurant and went back to the hotel to sleep after that heavy lunch. I couldn’t decide where to go after I woke and headed back to the train station, walking past San Marco, over to San Gallo, up and over to Via Nazionale, past Piazza della Independenza. CIAT office was still closed. I meandered back past the straw market to the hotel and had the concierge call Siena for a reservation for April 8, 9, 10. From Siena I could call ahead to Perugia. Good news awaited me Tuesday morning as I rose to pack to move to another hotel-- the lady at the Berchielli told me that I could stay on two more nights until I left on Thursday, in a smaller room. On Tuesday I went back to the train station, still hoping to learn that there was a bus direct to Ravenna, but found that Europa bus didn’t go there, so I had to settle for the 6:39 a.m. train on Thursday morning. Worrying as usual, I bought a ticket for the Thursday train, although it was only Tuesday. (When I arrived at the train station on Thursday, I learned that tickets are only good for the day they’re purchased. Relax!) I kept discovering places in Florence I hadn’t visited yet. I headed for the Palazzo Vecchio, where I visited the Hall of Elements, the balcony, the rooms of Eleanora of Toledo. My right foot was beginning to bother me, and it was freezing in that cold palace, so I returned to my warm hotel room and rested my foot, which I had broken the previous year. I wondered how I could keep going for two months with that right foot. Fortunately there were things to do while resting my foot. I could read the magazines-- I had developed a fondness for the magazine Oggi—the Italians favorite magazine. Or--I could always study the train tables and plan my travel after Ravenna—selecting the best train times to Bologna. By two I was recovered enough to walk again and, fortified by pizza and a glass of wine on the Via Calzioioli, I walked over the Ponte Sta Trinita and up the Via Maggio, looking at all the mansions, especially the one where Bianca Capelli, the mistress and later wife of Francis I lived, and then on to the Piazza San Felice, to the place where Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived and wrote and died. I always visit all the places with literary associations, and Florence has many. Returning to the Berchielli across the Ponte Vecchio, I looked in all the goldsmiths’ shops, looking for the perfect charm to remember Florence. I didn’t see anything tempting and bought the latest Oggi and Gente instead. I was also looking for La Sacra Biblia –the Bible in Italian. After dinner

in another self-service place, I enjoyed an evening stroll along Lungarno Corsini and back along the other side before retiring. Ah, the luxurious life of reading about new places, meandering, exploring, practicing Italian, and sleeping in a cozy hotel. The next day, Wednesday, was to be my Medici day. In the

morning I went to the Medici Chapel to see the tombs. Unfortunately It was raining and my shoes got wet—the only pair of walking shoes I had, and I needed to keep them dry because that afternoon I was going to the Medici villas. For 4000 lire (about $7.00) I had booked a bus tour of the two villas—Petraia and Castello—in Sesto Fiorentino. (at right: Villa Medicea

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di Petraia) http://www.gardenvisit.com/ge/villapetraia.htm Below: Villa Medicea di Castello

The villas were the perfect expression of how I would want to live as an Italian. The villas were based on medieval castles and had an open inner courtyard, with first floor dining room, state room, writing room and second floor bed rooms, many reception rooms

overlooking the gardens, as well as a chapel and game room. The Villa Castello had a grotto (dei animali) as well. Both had extensive gardens. . I knew that Muriel would want to see these villas, as well as I Tatti, and was happy to hear from a fellow tourist that one could reserve a private tour of I Tatti, the Bernard Berenson villa, on Wednesdays, so I reserved 2 spaces for April 30, during Muriel’s visit. Satisfied that I had absorbed everything I could from Florence, I was off for Ravenna.

Ravenna (April 3-7) Rising at 5:30, I left at 6:10 a.m. to catch the 6:39 train (Today I can’t even imagine thinking I could get across town to the train station in 29 minutes). Imagine my surprise when I found that the ticket I had providently bought ahead of time to avoid having to stand in a line at the train station had been for Tuesday, not Thursday, and had expired. I had to pay another 2500 for a new ticket. Arriving early in Ravenna, I found the Hotel Minverva (Via Maroncelli, 12) was full, but I left my flight bag there hoping they’d have a cancellation by the time I returned. Off I went to see the mosaics at the various churches. (Here’s a link to a good map of Ravenna: http://www.initaly.com/regions/byzant/map.htm.) I had loved mosaics, especially Byzantine mosaics, from the time when I was young, and had even done several mosaics. Ravenna is the mother lode of mosaics! It was like taking a walk through our Art History class—for real. (For a good overall look at Ravenna mosaics, look at http://www.classicalmosaics.com/photo_album.htm) Here’s another http://www.cortonagiovani.it/progettididattici/simboli/ravenna1.htm

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Sant’Apollinare Nuovo I was dazzled by the procession of virgins following Sts. Agnes and Agatha up one aisle behind the Magi to offer their gifts to Mary and her new baby, and of martyrs down the other side leading up to Jesus at the last Judgement. I was enthralled by early Christianity and martyrs, since my childhood when I saw the body of St. Beatrice at Clyde. I had studied Christian archaeology. Later I even started writing a book about a Roman martyr called Gaudentia—unfortunately never finished as many of my projects weren’t.

Take a look at this website to see more pictures of the lovely Byzantine church.

http://www.cortonagiovani.it/progettididattici/simboli/ravenna2.htm. Taking a break to fortify myself with a cappuccino and sandwich, I went to San Vitale—another marvelous mosaic-filled ancient church.

San Vitale

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This was most beautiful architecturally, two concentric octagons, with a cupola, built in the 6th century. There in one panel was Empress Theodora with her court of ladies, and in another, Emperor Justinian with his priests and officials, offering sacrifices to Christ, seated high up in the presbytery, on a throne.

Right next to San Vitale was the little tomb of Galla Placidia-- daughter of the Emperor Theodosius I (ruled 379–395), sister of the Western Emperor Flavius Honorius (ruled 393–423), wife of the Western Emperor Constantius III (ruled 421), and mother of the Western Emperor Valentinian III (ruled 425–455). She also spent five years forcibly married to the Visigoth Chieftan Ataulphus, after being captured by him when Rome finally fell in 410. She adorned Ravenna with a number of churches. A wonderful website showing the mosaics of Ravenna churches is http://www.paradoxplace.com/Perspectives/Venice%20&%20N%20Italy/Ravenna/San%20Vitale.htm

Dante’s Tomb From there I headed back to the Chiesa San Francesco and Dante’s Tomb adjacent to the cloisters. I had followed Dante around Florence (his heart is buried in Santa Croce) and I followed him here to Ravenna, where he died in exile in 1321. By this time it was 12:30 and

things were beginning to close. The town seemed so dead that, in spite of my desire to stay, I had to get out of there. I went to the Minerva where there still was no room, collected my flight bag and went back to the train station. A train would leave at 13:35 p.m. for Rimini, so I had a pizza and carafe of wine and for 600 lire bought a ticket to Rimini, where I arrived at 2:35 p.m. I decided to find a hotel there and use it as a base for a visit to San Marino and Urbino. I wanted to stay on the water, but although I walked all the way to Rivabella and along the beach I found nothing open, so I returned by bus to the train station and stayed at the Hotel Moderno. (It seems every Italian town has a Hotel Moderno near the train station.)

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After resting, I went out for dinner of vitello, spinacci and a quarto litro di vino, all for 2100 lire, including tip. The hotel was only 3500 lire /notte. Rimini was quite a bargain compared to Florence. The next morning I found out from the Tourist Info office that buses leave for San Marino every hour, e.g., 8:10 and 9:35 a.m., but the bus to Urbino goes only at 1:10 p.m., so I decided to go to Urbino that day, after having my hair done in the morning (I wanted to look chic since I was being Italian) and to save San Marino for the next day, Saturday. For 2000 + 250 tip I had my hair done at Josette’s on the main street. After lunch I rested until 1, then went over to the Sita bus stop to wait and found another woman was going to Urbino, so we sat together and talked.

Urbino The bus drive to Urbino goes along a beautiful hilltop drive, through little towns like Tavoleta. We arrived in Urbino about 2:30 p.m., but unfortunately the ducal palace had already closed for the day. (Those cursed Italian mid-day closings—they still Urbino is now a World Heritage site,

because “during its short cultural pre-eminence, Urbino attracted some of the most outstanding humanist scholars and artists of the Renaissance, who created there an exceptional urban complex of remarkable homogeneity, the influence of which carried far into the rest of Europe. . . Urbino represents a pinnacle of Renaissance art and architecture, harmoniously adapted to its physical site and to its medieval precursor in an exceptional manner.” It experienced “a great cultural flowering in the 15th century, attracting artists and scholars from all over Italy and beyond, and influencing

cultural developments elsewhere in Europe. Owing to its economic and cultural stagnation from the 16th century onwards, it has preserved its Renaissance appearance to a remarkable extent. My attraction to Urbino was Baltassar Castiglione, whose Il cortegiano (The Courtier) I had read in college. It was an important handbook of aristocratic manners during the Renaissance and described life at the court of the Duke Ferdinand of Urbino. existed in 2005.) I was looking for the Renaissance and of course could only gaze at it from outside the palace—the church of San Francesco next door yielded yet

another baroque church. Link to Urbino: http://www.comune.urbino.ps.it/infogiovani/photogallery.html

A true Renaissance attraction of Urbino was the home of Raphael on Via Raffaello. For only 200 lire I could tour the three-story house that reminded me of El Greco’s house. His first painting “The Marriage of the Madonna” is on the wall. The room he was born in, the table where he ground his paints—all there. My bus companion and I walked all around town. It took about 1 ½ hrs top get from the palace to the Piazza Roma. After a break for supper, I caught the 5:50 bus for Pesaro, arriving there about 6:40, in time for the 6:52 train to Rimini and was back there by 7:20 p.m.

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(For the ducal palace that we didn’t get to see, follow this link: http://www.paradoxplace.com/Perspectives/Italian%20Images/Montages/Umbria%20&%20Le%20Marche/Urbino%20Palazzo%20Ducale.htm)

San Marino The next morning at the Hotel Moderno I was up at 7:30, ate 2 brioche and a cappuccino for breakfast, paid my hotel bill of 6000 lire for the 2 nights, and after walking around a bit photographing, encountering a group of men carrying placards demonstrating another sciopero, I took the 9:35 bus to San Marino. On the bus, I met a woman going to San Marino, so we sat together and talked—another companion with whom I could practice my Italian, with French as a backup. The site is spectacular—a rocky summit rising precipitously on Monte Titano. We arrived about 10:30 and purchased a ticket “good for all the sights” for only 250 lire. The first was Palazzo del Governo. There are also

the three Rocche, three peaks crowned with towers, linked by a path: the Rocca Guaiata, and the Torre Cesta, and the Rocca Montale. These offer amazing overlooks. Unfortunately, I left my indispensable Michelin guidebook, my bible, somewhere and had to retrace my footsteps, so never got to the last peak, but did find my guidebook which I had left at a souvenir stand, where someone had

turned it in. After a beer and panini and some postcard souvenirs, I caught the 1:30 bus back to Rimini and made it just in time to take the 2:24 train to Bologna (for 1300 lire).

Bologna

I arrived in Bologna at 4 p.m and took a bus to the Piazza Maggiore, hoping to stay around there but all four places I checked were filled, and two would only let me have a double for 6-9000 lire, so I took the bus back to the train station--There are always hotel rooms available around train stations. Sure enough the Hotel Firenze a 3rd class hotel had a room on the fourth floor for 4800 a nite. After a rest, I went back to the Piazza Maggiore, looking for water and fresh oranges. My simple inexpensive meals never included fruit. I found the

oranges and bought 3 for 330 lire, but couldn’t find any water and saw that I only had 5000 lire left, so needed to get a check cashed. After going through the Palazzo del Podesta, I returned to the hotel to get a check cashed. On the way an American, one of the “Children of God” sect from California, stopped me, asking for money. He told me he loved me, etc. but was too preachy and effusive to persuade me. (See the link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_God) I told him I was running out of money myself. I cashed a travelers’ check at the train station, bought the Bible in Italian (La Sacra Bibbia) and went back to the hotel to read it. A noisy group of ragazzi & ragazze had moved into the rooms adjoining mine and were going at it, so I went out to dinner—very delicious, at Dalgino’s—insalata mista, polle, vino, all for 2700, including coperto. I walked back to the hotel, very tired and tried to sleep, but the girls next door carried on tutta la notte. Sunday April 6—Sunday is always a good day to visit public places, like gardens, churches. In the Piazza Maggiore I met Maria Luisa Caldognetto, who was staying at the Albergo Regina. She

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was a teacher of 14 year-olds at a middle school in the Appenines. We arranged to meet that night at 8 at her hotel. Then I went off looking at all the starred churches and palaces in the Michelin Guide—S. Giacomo (St. James Major--right), St. Stephen’s (left) with the early Christian churches nestled into it, especially the circular Church of the Holy Sepulchre, then to the Church of Sts. Vitalis and Agricola (11th century). A courtyard,

with a basin said to be Pilate’s basin, is behind the Holy Sepulchre, which has beautiful exterior brickwork. Then to the Church of the Trinity—with Romanesque cloisters--all very old

Romanesque (8-11th century) St. Dominic’s (he is buried in Siena) and its Capella Bentivoglio, the Bevilacqua Palace, which looks like the Florentine palaces, like the Medici-Riccardi. That evening I was disappointed to find that Maria Luisa’s albergo said she was “fuori.” I left her a note about my hotel, but she never came over, so I watched a detective story on TV till 10. For some good “Postcards from Bologna” check out this

link: http://www.aboutromania.com/bologna17.html Monday April 7, I paid my hotel bill (9600 lire), left my flight bag at the hotel, took the bus to Piazza Maggiore for one last look around to see what I had missed, to see if there any fashion buys. I had felt very unfashionable in Florence, but Bologna was was not so high fashion. After a lunch of panini and beer, I took the noon train to Florence and arrived about 1:30, and

walked to the Berchielli, where I was given Room 37, at the old rate of 5000 lire, although April was now a different season. Cleaned up and wearing my skirt instead of the eternal pants that I had worn during my flying trip around northern Italy, I went to the American Express office where I found three letters waiting—from Mother, Dad, and Marie. Dad’s asked if I had been to San Miniato’s yet, reminding me that I hadn’t, so I took the bus to the

Ponte alle Grazie bridge, from which I walked up to San Miniato’s, the most beautiful church in Florence. Every inch is decorated. The sacristy has wonderful frescoes of the life of St. Benedict (perhaps that’s why Dad liked it—he had briefly been in a Benedictine seminary). As I was leaving, some Benedictine monks in white robes came down and began singing the solemn office of the BVM—a real chant. I stayed to hear it all, then walked down to Piazzale Michelangelo to the bus, walked to the Ponte Vecchio and went into a jewelry show where I bought some more gold earrings (10,800 lire, or $17).

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After dinner I walked around the streets of Florence as usual, and it was such a marvelous night I took some pictures, decided not to go back to the hotel, and by accident found a concert at the Palazzo Vecchio, nella sala dei Duecento. Fa molto freddo, ma sono restate al fine. After overnighting at the Berchielli in Florence, I was heading off to Siena the next day. I didn’t know how I would be getting there but wasn’t worried. Some people from Canada had just arrived by car through Switzerland, so I chatted with them till 9:15, when I paid the bill and headed to the bus depot and found that a bus left at noon. I had time before it left, so I visited my favorite church, Sta Trinita and looked at the Ghirlandaio frescoes there and talked to the sacristan, who showed me the sacristy, which used to be a chapel, and in which Strozi is buried, then showed me the tomb of Davanzati, showed me the crypt where he lit a candle for me when I told him I was an ex-nun. I put 100 lire in as an offering and said a prayer there—I was very moved.

Siena—April 8-10 Back at the Berchielli, I brought my bags down and sat down, writing cards to my folks and Marie, waiting. The bus came, taking people to the station and SITA for only 700 lire (better than a cab). The SITA bus was direct and arrived in Siena about 1. I found another Albergo Moderno, (there’s always a Hotel Moderno)--a little out of town, just behind the Chiesa di San Francesco. For the first time I had my own toilet! I loved arriving in a new town at 1 p.m., just as the siesta was beginning, settling into my hotel, and walking into the main piazza of the town and orienting myself, taking the air. I sat outdoors in the Piazza del Campo, had a quatro stagione pizza and a small bottle of wine. Some Americans with whom I struck up a conversation suggested some good restaurants—perhaps I would never go to them, but I enjoyed hearing about them and finding them on my map. I could look ahead to several delicious days here and sat there in the sun poring over my Michelin guide, planning what I would see. First, to the Duomo, fortunately duomos are always open. The beautiful white Gothic cathedral with its subtle black stripes outside and inside is astonishing. The pavements are inlaid, the baptistery and the font has bronze bas reliefs by Ghiberti, Donatello and Verocchio. Here’s a link to a good website about Siena: http://gallery.euroweb.hu/tours/siena/city.html Siena is a hard town to get used to; it’s so medieval still that you feel like you’re living in the Middle Ages. There were even statues of wolves around. Then I read that Senus, the descendent of Remus, one of the mythological founders of Rome, was supposed to have founded Siena.

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Clockwise from top: The Town Hall, The Wolf fountain, St. Catherine of Siena, The Duomo Baptistry, and Duomo Interior

After dinner in the Da Mugalone restaurant (one of those the American students had suggested), I headed back to my hotel. I usually have a good sense of direction, but Siena is not an easy town to navigate—it’s more medieval than any other medieval town I know of, much harder than Assisi. I can’t even tell north from south. All the little alleys and steps leading down—little warrens. With the various contradas it has hung onto that medieval character. I got lost. It wasn’t a place to get lost in, especially after dinner, when it was dark. I noticed that only men were out walking the streets, arms linked together. April wasn’t tourist season, so they looked at me as if I didn’t belong there—I should have been home like their wives and daughters doing the dishes and cleaning my house. Back at the Albergo Moderno, filled now with busloads of French and German tourists, my room was freezing. I put on a jacket to keep warm. Siena is higher than Florence--3445 ft. and hence colder at night. I told the concierge, in my best Italian: “Fa molto freddo; la mia camera non ha riscaldimento. Le altere camere l’hanno, ma non la mia.” He came up and fixed the heater and the heat went on. Tuesday, April 9 was the day I had decided to go on my grand tour of Siena. After a grapefruit and a shower, I walked to town, had my usual cappuccino and brioche, then followed the itineraries in the guidebook; otherwise I’d be lost in this confusing town. #1: Palazzo Pubblico or Town Hall. The frescoes are unbelievably beautiful: Allegories good and bad government, the Maesta of Simone Martini, the chapel, the life of Alexander III, the print room. #2 The Palaces: Piccolomini, Chigi-Zondadari (now a music center), Tolomei, Salimbeni, Tantucci, Spannocchi. #3 The Pinacoteca or National Picture Gallery. Here there were zillions of early (12-14th cen.) Sienese (Byzantine type) paintings, including Duccios. I promised myself that I would spend an entire day there, and years later I returned to do just that. Lunch break, during the 1:30-3:30 siesta. Everything was closed, even the Medici Fortress. #4 St Catherine’s House didn’t open till 3:30, so I went to the Church of San Domenico, where I saw St. Catherine’s mummified head and the famous painting of her (above). The patron saint of Italy, she lived from 1347-1380. A third-order Dominican, a mystic who was widely revered in her own time, she lived like an anchorite in her family home, practiced austerities, received spiritual visions and the stigmata, experienced spiritual marriage after which she returned to public life and devoted herself to trying to reform the papacy (Avignon schism) writing hundreds of letters to popes and kings and private citizens, of which 400 have survived--from her cell near the Church. Back at her house, I saw her kitchen and hearth, her garden, her favorite room and her cell, as well as the many paintings of her life. Catherine’s writings include the Dialogues (between God and the soul), 400 of her letters, and many prayers. After all that, I was ready to head back to the Campo to relax, but I decided to go to the Museo del Opere del Duomo where the works by Duccio are. Good idea. The Maesta was Duccio’s masterpiece—the Virgin enthroned, surrounded by scenes from her life on the front, with the 26

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scenes from the passion of Christ on the back. It was originally painted to be the altarpiece of the Duomo. Duccio completed it in three years (!), and it was carried there in a great procession in 1311. Two centuries later it was dismantled and moved into the museum. This is probably my favorite painting of all time. A kindly guard explained all the scenes to me. By the time I returned to my hotel it was 6:15. I

had heard of a piano trio concert later at 9 p.m. at San Agostino, but the walk back in the dark and confusing streets made me decide against it, so after a dinner of tagliatelle and spinacci with a ¼ l. vino, I retired. The next day I wanted to go next to San Gimignano and found that a bus left at 8:35 a.m. and again at 10:30 a.m. from Piazza San Domenico.

San Gimignano I was up at 7:30 and found it was raining, not an auspicious day for a trip to San Gimignano, but after a bracing morning cappuccino I decided to go for it. I was on a tight schedule. The padrone was so kind as to take me to catch the 8:30 bus from San Dominico. The ride was about 1 ½ hours and on the way I met a lovely English woman from Plymouth, Joan Gay, who was staying at the Bel Sojorno in San Gimignano. We enjoyed a coffee and dolce on the Piazza del Duomo in San Gimignano, then she showed me around to the Duomo, the Palace and art museum, the Rocca, then San Agostino’s, which was closed, and as it was very cold, we went back to her place and had dinner in a lovely restaurant overlooking the valley. After dinner I left her and returned to San Agostino to see the paintings by Gozzoli of the Life of St. Augustine, one of my favorite saints. [I had forgotten about this visit in 1975. I remember instead a visit in 1998 when I took time to go over the entire set of frescoes of Augustine’s life.] After a walk around the Piazza Cisterna, I headed to the main gate where the bus stop was, and as it was early, had time to walk around the walls, look at the 17 towers. The bus came about 5 p.m. and cost only 250 lire to Poggibonsi where I changed. We got there about 5:15, but the Siena bus wasn’t due until 6:15, so I wanted to walk up the Fortress (San Luccessi), but there was no bus so I passed the time talking to Franco, who bought me a beer and gave me his address and took mine. The Siena bus (400 lire) was an express and we arrived back in Siena at 7:15, a profitable day. I found that a bus would leave the next morning for Perugia—my next stop—at 6 a.m. The concierge at the hotel looked up the info and found a train would leave at 8:10, but I would have to change trains I had a heavy suitcase and the bus drivers put your suitcases into the storage, whereas on the trains I had to haul the suitcase aboard by myself, so I opted for the bus, which ended up to take 4 ½ hours, while the train ride was only 3 hours. The concierge made a pass at me and I had to fight him off. He wanted to take me to the train station, but I decided to take the early bus.

Perugia—April 11 After washing my hair and clothes, I went to bed early, but woke up hungry at 1 and ate pompelmo. Rose at 5 and paid my bill--$30 for three days, including 1 meal, a phone call to Perugia, a cappuccino and donut. A different concierge gave me a ride to the station and I gave him 1000 lire. There were no cabs at that time of the morning. I found that I had to change buses in Chiusi anyway. The total bus ride was 750 lire to Perugia, winding up into the hilltowns of Umbria. We arrived about 10:30, and I got out and took a cab to La Rosetta, a nice hotel right on the Corso Vanucci for only 4400 lire. It was just across from the Piazza Italia (where the bus stopped if I hadn’t gotten off at the first stop in Perugia). There was a strike, so the hotel restaurant was not open.

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After checking in and getting settled (one could always get checked in early in those days) I headed for the Town Hall (Collegio del Cambio) and next to it, the Palazzo dei Priori (left) and Umbrian National Art Gallery, all leading to the Fontana Maggiore (below below left) and Cathedral of San Lorenzo (below left). I always love a panoramic view and found one at the Carducci Gardens. As I was hungry I found a place to eat right off the Via Priori and ate lunch with a Czech girl I had talked to in the gallery—Susanna Blottman. I had my

usual favorites: tagliatelli, vitello, spinacci and ½ l. vino for only 1150 lire—not even $2. Amazing. I returned to the hotel and rested for a while, then resumed my tour, walking to the Etruscan arch (below), then to the 6-8th century circular Church of Sant’Angelo (beautiful, and came back along the Etruscan walls via Corso Battisti and Via Maesta to the Piazza 4 Novembre and then headed west along Via dei Priori to the Oratory of San Bernardino. When I look at a map today, and remember how hilly Perugia is, I am amazed at how far I

walked on these explorations, just to see a church. By this time it was dark, so I walked around a bit and headed back to my hotel. Susanna, with whom I had lunch, had said that Sicily was nice and inexpensive and the people were great, so I thought I might head to Sicily after Muriel left. Who knows? I had only been in Perugia one day, yet I had really seen most of the highlights, but the next day I was heading toward Assisi, and I still had a few things to see before I left, so the next morning, I rose at 7, washed and went for a walk south to view the Marzia Gate and Paolina Fortress, then down the steps to the Chiesa Herculana and down the Corso Cavour to the Basilica di S. Domenico and the Museo Archaeologico. Then I continued on down along the Borgo XX Giugno to the Basilica di S. Pietro. I had my daily breakfast of a cappuccino and brioche along the way, then headed back to my hotel, paid my bill (4400 lire--$7). I still had time to go to see the frescoes of Perugino at the Collegio del Cambio before going to my hotel and collecting my bags

and heading across the street to the Piazza Italia, from which the bus for Assisi would depart at 9:30 a.m. Clockwise from below left:—Sant’Angelo, Oratorio San Bernardino, Perugino, Chiesa Herculana, Sant’Angelo.

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Assisi—April 12-13 Many students were on the bus enlivened the trip to Assisi. The fare from Perugia to Assisi was only 350 lire (less than a dollar). The drive through the Umbrian plain and up the hill to Assisi reminded me of what Edith Wharton wrote of driving through Umbria—she said it was like “driving through the landscape of a missal.”

I had booked a reservation at the Hotel Giotto)-- only two blocks up from the Piazza San Francesco, where the bus stopped, but not knowing any better and remembering that I had gotten off too soon in Perugia, I stayed on the bus until the next stop—Sta. Chiara’s, and had to take a cab back. I loved the Giotto Hotel www.hotelgiottoassisi.it. It became my favorite hotel, and I am glad to see that it has been renovated put back in service, since it was closed when I was there one time later. Now the rate is 150 Euros; then Room 14 was only 4400

lire, ($7). From the balcony overlooking the Umbrian plain, you can see the Chiesa San Pietro. My first visit after checking in was to to Mount Alverno and the Carceri (St. Francis’s hermitage) and then San Damiano (St. Clare’s home, the building Francis rebuilt). (7000 lire to cab driver and 1000 to the Franciscan guide at each place.) (In 2000 I would walk to the hermitage and back.) Returning to town, I headed for the Basilica of San Francesco—to see the Giotto frescoes of the life of St. Francis in the upper basilica

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(right), and then visited the lower basilica, but was so hungry that I had to go and eat—a panino and birrino. I was still hungry so got an egg on bread and walked up Via San Francesco, into the Pilgrim’s Oratory (where there is perpetual exposition), then on to the Piazza del Commune, where the Temple of Minerva and palaces and a fountain adorn the square. Then I went down and saw the Piazza Piccolino Francesco, which claims to the be the birthplace of Saint Francis, then on to St. Clare’s church, into her tomb, where I gave 100 lire for a holy card to a veiled Poor Clare, then went up and saw the crucifix which spoke to St. Francis. Then I walked down the Via Fontabella to my hotel, had an ice cream bar on the way. What a beautiful town, I thought, my favorite—even more than Forence. Florence was a mix of many voices—Dante, the Medicis, even later occupants like E. Barrett Browning, but Assisi remained above all the fray, enveloped still in peace, dominated by its two saints. Its serene location above the Umbrian plain contributes to a sort of isolation. It remains forever St. Francis’s home--quiet and lovely, full of surprises—sunny, smiling and warm. Bellissimo! I could not get enough of St. Francis. After resting and reading a little in I Fioretti (The Little Flowers of St. Francis, legends about the saint), I headed back to the basilica, buying 3 oranges and 2 bananas on the way, and went carefully through the lower basilica, looking at the Chapel of St. Martin and the Magdalen Chapel by Giotto and the transepts, especially the one on the right by Giotto of scenes of the Virgin’s life and then of Christ’s life by Giotto and the 3 virtues and S. Francis in glory above the main altar—also by Giotto. A choir was singing and their voices echoing in the crypt was haunting. I felt like I was making a retreat. Back at the hotel, I rested until 7:30 and then went out to eat at La Buca Ristorante up Via Fontabella. After that I walked back to the basilica and found a local band was practicing for the Calendimaggio, the first of May. The next morning I had breakfast on my balcony, wrote cards to friends, had a cappuccino in the hotel where I talked to some Canadian ladies, then headed to the Basilica for 10 o’clock Mass. Multiple baptisms were in progress. After Mass, as everything was closed, I headed up to the Rocca Maggiore, a fortress above Assisi that had enticed me since I first saw it. I met Saverio, who accompanied me back down, held my hand and tried hard to seduce me, but I got rid of him. After lunch I returned to San Francesco and went around back to the old cloister and burying ground. After a visit to San Pietro, and a sunbath in the piazza out front, I returned to the hotel, then decided I had to climb to the Rocca Minore to complete my expeditions to the highest spots

in Assisi. I loved these high lonely places with great views over the town and the plain. Fortunately no one bothered me there and I returned about 5, checked the train schedule and found that a train to Rome left at 12:45 and a bus left for the train station every 20 minutes. I then returned to the Rocca Minore to photograph the sun set behind the Rocca Maggiore, stopping on the way back for dinner at the Buca San Francesco.. Tomorrow I was off for Rome. Here is a

link to a good site http://www.bellaumbria.net/Assisi/galleria_fotografica.htm# The next morning I was up early, bathed, packed and ate on the balcony, paid my bill of 10,900 lire and took a cab to Santa Chiara where the bus left from. The bus ride itself was only 100 lire. Checking my bags at the train station I went off to see the church of the Portiuncula, housing the chapel of the first Franciscans, and the Capello del Transito, where St. Francis died, and the Rose Garden where he threw himself on the thorns, and the old convent (built later) with the cells used by San Bernardino and St. Charles Borromeo, also the crypt. My guide was a

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Franciscan in whom I confided that I had left a religious order. He said he was 40 but his superiors still treat him like a ragazzo. He said priests were leaving in Italy too. He helped me to return my key to room 14 to the Hotel Giotto, which I had walked off with. I took some pictures of the basilica of San Francesco (you can only really get a view of the site from below) and took the 12:43 p.m. train for Rome (2100 lire).

Rome April 14-18 Freedom! Grandeur! Romance! So far everything about my Italian adventure had gone even better than I hoped. I had left Chicago on a cold March 18 and had been in Italy less than a month, and by April I felt as if I’d been there a year. I’d been to the top of Mt. Pilatus and seen the Alps from the top of the world. I’d been over much of northern Italy (saving Venice for Muriel’s visit)—Como, Florence, Fiesole, Siena, San Gimignano, Ravenna, Urbino, Bologna, San Marino, Perugia, Assisi, and I was on my way back in Rome, which I had visited the previous year, when I had promised myself that I would return and spend my sabbatical in Italy. And now, Muriel was about to arrive. Muriel would join me in Rome and we were going to Do Italy—Rome, Naples, Assisi, Florence, Venice and back to Rome. We would skip across the Seven Hills singing Arrivederci Roma! We would visit the Isle of Capri, climb Mt. Vesuvius, tour the Costa Amalfitano, pay homage to St. Francis, see all the Medici Palaces and all the Michelangelos and Fra Angelicos, ride in a gondola and skip back to Rome, all in three weeks. I was in Rome by 3:45 on April 14. I had booked us into the Pensione Erdarelli, (http://www.romeguide.it/erdarelli/erdarelli.html) on the Via Due Macelli, not far from the Spanish Steps. Muriel would like it, I hoped, although the room was small and the bath was down the hall. There was, I would tell her, a balcony, a rare treat. In engaging the room, As the Erdarelli was (is) on a busy street in Rome, you have to take an elevator (gabinetta) up to the lobby and our floors. This would fascinate Muriel, who loved quaint European ways. I had made it a point to explain that we were due donne and needed due letti, per due persone. Most Italian doubles seemed to mean a letto matrimonio or double bed. I had gotten a cold by the time I arrived, but couldn’t stop—I needed cash. For that I needed to cash a check at American Express, the only bank open—those were the days before bancomats, pick up my mail, buy some fruit and acqua minerale and have a spremuta di arancia. I had mail: letters from Bob and my parents--all about the big snow storm in the Midwest that spring. I went back to the hotel to rest and read and fell asleep. At 8:45 p.m., I awoke, hungry. I looked for the Verdecchi, a restaurant I’d heard of on Via Frattini, but couldn’t find it, so I ate at Da Giggi, Via Belsiana 94 (apparently famous for its homemade pasta: http://www.ristorantidiroma.com/giggi_eng.htm) right by the Spanish Steps. On Muriel’s arrival day, I got up at 7:30, ate at my pensione, caught Bus 78 to the Termini and another bus to the aereoporto, to meet her 10:45 flight. Muriel was a New Yorker, sophisticated, having experienced everything when she was growing up in New York. This made her demanding. She was Jewish but had converted to Catholicism and become a nun. That had not made her any less demanding. She did not learn, as I did, in the convent, to make do and shut up. She would complain. Now she was like me, an ex-nun. Fortunately, although I wasn’t demanding, I was creative and could see the good side of many things that appalled her. I thought of myself as lucky. She thought I was provincial. She arrived on time, and after resting, we walked to the Piazza d’Espagna. It was her first visit to Italy. It was spring. Blooming azaleas lined the Spanish Steps. I wanted everything to be perfect for her, so that she would not complain. Fortunately, she was entranced. We ate lunch at the famous Antique Café Greco and walked along Via Condotti , looking in Bulgari’s and other shops,

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on to the Corso and down to the Piazza del Popolo. To show her an overall view of Rome, we walked up to the Pincio to look down over the city from there. She was happy. Her first thought was to go immediately to see the Vatican. She remained very religious, unlike myself. We caught the 792 bus behind the Piazza del Popolo and went through the immensity of St. Peter’s. To me, St. Peter’s seems altogether too much—troppo grande. I preferred the early churches. “Let’s spend tomorrow in the Vatican Museums,” she decided. While we were around there, she wanted us to check out Hotel Columbus, near the Vatican, the old Cardinal della Rovere’s palace, but a double with bath was 16300 (about $25). Of course now that amount seems ridiculously low; a double there now costs between 175 and 350 €. We were paying only 4750 or $7.30 at the Erdarelli. We took Bus 62 back to the Corso, walked past the Trevi Fontana, then went to a 6 p.m. Mass around the corner. Fortunately for Muriel, who went to mass every day, there were churches on every corner and masses morning, noon and night. After resting in our pensione, we took a cab to Piccolo Mondo (of La Dolce Vita fame, near the Via Veneto) but it was closed, so we ate at the Ristorante Pepone instead and then took a cab back to our hotel. Someone had recommended the Scoglio di Frisio Restaurant, where strolling singers of Neopolitan songs were promised. The next day we spent the morning looking in shops, cashing travelers’ checks, eating, before our scheduled visit to the Vatican Museums at 1. We stayed there till 4:30, seeing everything—the ancient and modern sculptures, the Raphael Rooms, the Sistine Chapel, etc., then sitting and writing cards while we had a cappuccino. We took a bus along the Via Cola di Rienzo, where good shops were located. Muriel bought an umbrella (it had been raining) and a sweater. Bus 81 got us back to the Piazza del Popula, up Tritone and turned at the Via Due Macelli, where we disembarked. Muriel went to Mass and I went to my room. So far we were doing okay. The next day, more city buses and sightseeing—St. Mary Major (crib and mosaics), the Borghese Chapel, St. Peters in Chains (Michaelangelo’s Moses), interspersed with shopping along the Via Cavour. After lunch we went into the Forum, to see the arches, temples, Palatine Hill, stadium, Houses of Augustus and Flavia (wife of Domitian), the Coliseum. We walked to the Pza Venezia, the Vittorio Emmanuele monument, where there was demonstration. Dinner was at La Cantina. The next day, more demonstrations, along Due Macelli at 10 a.m., and at the Spanish Steps. Italians seemed always to be demonstrating against something. Muriel loved to shop, and the stores along the Via Condotti are the best in the world, so in we went to Gucci’s and Bulgari’s, where she asked to look at a pair of earrings that were 50 grams of 18K gold--$750. Imagine what they’d be today. We walked to the Corso, then headed west, to the Pantheon and the the Pza Navona, where we ate at Tre Scalini and had a tartufo (ice cream with cherry inside and drenched in chocolate) for dessert. http://www.10best.com/Rome,Italy/Restaurants/Caf%7Cs/index.html?businessID=22228 From there we walked to the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele and took the 181 bus to the Borghese Gardens and walked through. I lay down on a park bench, exhausted, while Muriel talked to an Italian fellow who asked her out. She refused. After we were rested, we walked back to the bus stop and took the 181 back Via Del Tritone to Due Macello. I picked up my dry cleaning (jacket and slacks) and we looked in some more stores, at scarves (foulards). I went back to rest at the hotel while Muriel went to Mass, where she met another fellow. At 8 we went back to La Cantina. Muriel went out with her friend, Marcello Diaz, and I stayed home and slept.

Naples April 19-22 Next morning, we packed our bags. We were off to Naples. After paying our bill (only 19000 lire), we stopped at the American Express (no mail), then looked into some more shops before taking a cab to the Termini, where we boarded the 12:15 Rapido to Naples, arriving about 2 p.m. A

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hotel tour guide sidetracked us before we left the station, trying to get us to go to a pensione he recommended, for 7000 lire each. I’m the suspicious type, so I told Muriel to sit on the bags, while I went to the information desk in the station and made a reservation at the Hotel Riviera for a double with bath, on the sea. Sure enough, we were right on the Riviera, in a large room with French doors that opened onto the waterfront. We strolled on the Riviera, had lunch at a trattoria, Zi Teresa, on the pier, http://www.mytravelguide.com/restaurants/profile-79136305-Italy_Naples_Zi_Teresa.html I bought my necessities—water, oranges, grapefruit. We rested until 10:30 p.m. then went out for dinner to Da Gennaro in the nearby Piazza dei Martyrii.

The next day we planned to visit Capri and Villa San Michele, which I knew about from having read Axel Mundt’s wonderful book, The Story of San Michele. We went to Mass at 10, as it was Sunday, then took the 11:10 aliscafi for Capri, about ½ hr. Up we went in the funicular to Capri, walked around the shops, had lunch then took the minibus up to Anacapri and went through San Michele, the most beautiful place on earth, with the best view, and a pergola on the terrace that is unforgettable. Here’s a little bit of info on Axel Munthe: “Axel Munthe, a fashionable Swedish doctor, came to Capri at the end of the nineteenth century. He acquired the ruin of

San Michele chapel at near the mountain village of Anacapri, to which he added surrounding land over a period of years. He renovated the buildings and stocked them with ancient Roman and Greek antiques. He even managed to get a red granite Egyptian sphinx up there, though how this was done is still a mystery. After an eye illness Munthe retired to a nearby ancient tower, where he wrote The Story of San Michele, a history of the villa, intermeshed with stories from his own experiences. The book was a run-away best seller all over the world.” (from the website http://www.roguery.com/cities/naples/visiting/sanmichele/villa.htm)

What could follow a visit to Capri? The Opera! Muriel was a big opera buff (I became one later), and insisted on our getting ticket to Un Ballo in Maschera at Teatro San Carlo. What a good idea that turned out to be! We had orchestra seats and even bought programs. We spent the intermission in the Grand Hall, where drinks and sandwiches were served. It was so civilized and elegant. We fit in. Muriel was good for me in this way—she wanted la dolce vita, and I from having done more traveling, had settled for less than she would. She had standards. It was occasionally a bone of contention between us. She easily took exception to treatment that she deemed below what she expected—no matter what she was doing—traveling or working. She got into trouble in the various jobs she held, until she ended up working as a consultant where she had only herself to blame if she didn’t receive the best. It was somewhat of a tug between us—she pulling me up to her level, demanding a higher seat, and I, willing to avoid conflict by settling for the best seat available. Being in the convent had done wonders for my creativity. One superior had said I could make green paint out of grass. I could see wonders in the most ordinary things—I didn’t have to go demanding the best. All the wonderful adventures that had come to me, the ascent of Mt. Pilatus, the Scoppio del Carro, all the art and all the people I’d met—these had fallen into my lap while I was sitting in the cheap seats. There are cheap seats

available for the best the world has to offer. This was something I learned from my brother, Joe Shaughnessy, on my first trip abroad in 1967. The best seat was within me.

The next day, after Mass, we headed to Mt. Vesuvius. We took a trolley to Styne and then via Cercium Vesuvianum to Ercolano, and another bus up to Vesuvio. There was a restaurant with a deck and view where we ate and watched as a wedding reception was held

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against the background of Mt. Vesuvius. We took the chair lift up to the top, where we walked around, and peered into the smoking crater. We ate again, took the bus back to Ercolano and then headed back to Naples, where we stopped in Pza Vittoria to eat at a ristaurante across from Da Giovanni’s. The next day we were to visit the Amalfi Coast. The bust left from the Piazza Municipio for Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast. We stopped at a cameo factory and then went on to Pompeii, where we saw the basilica, the forum, the Casa Fauna and Casa Vestri (large house with pornographic murals and a lovely peristyle and court), a terme (bath, one room cold, one warm and one hot). In the antiquities room we saw casts of bodies—crouching woman, dog, like the 2 men in the baths. From Pompeii the bus drove over to Salerno and began the drive along the Amalfi Coast, the absolutely most beautiful drive in the world. As our bus wound around the many curves, I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the many small towns that seemed to tumble down the cliffs into the sea. Positano, Ravello, Amalfi, Praiano—I wanted to stop in them all. We had lunch at the Hotel Miramalfi in Amalfi, then drove on to Positano, then to Colli de S. Pietro and inland to Sorrento, where we stopped for 20 minutes to look at an inlaid wood factory. We were back in Naples by 6. I had the concierge call the Hotel Giotto in Assisi for a room. Room 15 was not libero, but we were promised another room with a view. We ate at Da Gennaro again and met Roberto Geist from Rome. He took us to the California Bar. (Most places were closed because of another scioppero).

Assisi April 23-25 The next morning in Naples, we rose at 8, dressed, ate, paid our bill of 29,470 lire (for 4 nights=6100/nite, not even $5 apiece for our sea view). Muriel had been buying purses and belts and shoes and needed another valise, so we shopped around and found one, then returned packed and took a taxi to the train and bought first class tickets to Rome and on to Assisi. From Naples to Rome we got into a discussion with the whole compartment—a couple, 2 men, a young girl, the conductor, regarding students, religion, the young, etc. The Italians love to talk. The time passed quickly and we were in Assisi by 5:30 and checked into the Giotto, Rm. 11, complete with a terrace overlooking the Umbrian plain and a bath! We were in heaven. The first stop in Assisi is always the Basilica, and there I ran into Saverio, whom I had met at the Rocca Maggiore the last time I was in Assisi. Ben tornata! he welcomed me. Walking through the basilica, we found Muriel, then ran into Saverio’s professor Riccardo. (I wonder now whether Italian men in general visit their tourist spots regularly or whether it was just Saverio and Riccardo’s habit. Were they looking to meet touring women like us?) We all went out for a drink amaro cuore (bitter heart), very good, and ate dinner at La Fontana. I also had a Jaegermeister liqueur. We met Giorgio Amore there who joined us and since he had a car, where else to drive than up to La Rocca Maggiore. Giorgio wanted me to go to his house with him, but I wouldn’t. I agreed to meet him next day at 6:30 p.m.. The next day I had my hair done for my big date with Giorgio, read my copy of Gente, while Muriel went to Mass. On the way back to the hotel, I bought some fruit and checked on the trains to Florence, finding that the only direct one didn’t leave until 4:45 p.m. I like to leave in the morning and arrive around 1 or 2. I went looking for Muriel at San Francesco. Many groups of pilgrims were there. I walked up the Via San Francesco to the Piazza Communale, where bleachers were being set up for the Calendimaggio, defined as “una festa popolare che, ispirandosi alle tradizioni medievali della città di Assisi, celebra ogni anno il ritorno alla primavera con un gentile tenzone musicale, corale, poetico, di ricostruzioni di ambienti, scene di vita e cortei

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storici fra le due fazioni di Assisi: la Nobilissima Parte de Sopra e la Magnifica Parte de Sotto.” Unfortunately, we would not be here then, as Muriel would have to be back in Rome and on her way home that weekend. Not finding her, I walked down to the Piazza Santa Chiara and into the church, thinking she might be there. No luck. Down the Via Fontanella I walked, buying 2 panini and a birrino. I finally met Muriel and we went out to eat, at Buca San Francesco. Giorgio (nicknamed Peppino) was going to come and take me out for an Italian dinner. He knew Muriel and I were staying at the Giotto, but hadn’t gotten my last name. How would he find me? I decided not to make it easy by waiting for him in the lobby, but stayed upstairs, reading I Fioretti sitting on the balcony. He will have to ask at the front desk for the two American ladies, I reasoned. I would make sure I knew what he planned to do. In spite of wanting to become Italian, I didn’t trust Italian men. At 8:30 he called; he was downstairs. Muriel and I went together; fortunately Giorgio’s friend Hettore was also in the car. At the Piazza Communale Muriel changed her mind and wanted out. “Giorgio drives too fast,” she complained. Hettore left too—I don’t know whether they went off together, probably not. Giorgio and I drove to a place outside Assisi, but it was closed, so he drove on to Perugia, to a place on the Via Mancotti (?) for dinner—or rather, supper—an omelet, salad and beer. Giorgio became romantic. He wanted to show me his apartment in Assisi. I agreed. I was charmed: his place was beautiful. He had everything prepared for a seduction—liquor, music, candlelight, a sofa, but I am afraid of men who are too insistent. I suddenly remembered I was not an Italian to him, I was an American. Why was he pursuing an American and not an Italian? Were Italian women hard to get and Americans easy? He saved face by inviting me to return for the Calendimaggio and stay at his place, as the hotels were all booked. That bud did not bloom.

Florence Our trip was going well. Muriel and I were now heading for Florence. It was April 25. What adventures lay ahead for us? After packing, I walked one last time up to my favorite spot, the Rocca Maggiore, where as I was enjoying the spectacular view of Assisi, an old man tried to put his arm around me. I was getting tired of these Italian men in Assisi, so I left and returned, by way of the Chiesa Nuova. By 11:30 I was back and Muriel was paying the bill—15000 apiece ($25). We took a cab down to the station, checked our bags and went to Santa Maria degli Angeli. A pilgrimage group from Genova was there. We went through the Portiuncula again, saw Padre Claudio, who had been so nice to me before, and we gave him our names so he’d pray for us. We had lunch at the Trattoria Rusticana. In the tourist information office in Assisi where we had checked on the trains to Florence, Mario said that we must be the American ladies that he had heard of from Peppino (Giorgio) and Saverio. Assisi is a small town. I was happy that I hadn’t succumbed to either man’s charms, for I am sure that everyone in Assisi would have known about it. Who knew anyway what Giorgio

and Saverio had told them about the American ladies? I was glad we were leaving on the 4:40 p.m. train. What did it matter that it would have helped if Mario had told us to change trains in Terontola to the express train that would have saved us an hour. Our “express” train to Florence didn’t arrive in Florence until 7:55 p.m. We checked into two singles at the Berchielli for 5000 lire a night—only 600 lire ($1) more than the old winter rate.

The Palazzo Vecchio was all lit up again with flares for the National Liberation holiday. After dinner we walked to the Duomo, to San Lorenzo and back by way of the Bargello, the Uffizi (una mostra di fiori) and back to the hotel by 11:30. We noticed students camped all over the steps of the Duomo, which was filthy. I decided that Florence is too much loved by all the students. There would be a concert Sunday night at the Palazzo Vecchio, which we would be in town for.

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The next morning was Saturday, April 26. After breakfast, we walked to American Express, where I had 3 letters. We walked along the Via Tornabuoni to the Antinori Palace, then over to the Duomo and went inside, standing under the great dome, reading about the Pazzi Conspiracy on April 26, 1478, when, during the elevation of the host, Lorenzo di Medici (right) was wounded by the Pazzi, and his brother Juliano and another were killed. Today was the 497th anniversary of that

event. We could feel the presence of the Medici in that place. From there we went to the Medici Chapel, where Lorenzo and Juliano are both buried. (We did not go to the Medici villas as I had reserved for us, because we left for Venice on the 30th.) After eating lunch and visiting San Miniato (not open), the Gozzoli Chapel, San Marco and Accademia (both closed), we ended up on the Ponte Vecchio where I bought two charms, one for Ada and one for me—the Medici coat of arms, with 6 jeweled balls (the Medicis were pharmacists) on each side, to commemorate my Medici day. (Leonardo depicted the hanging of Julio’s assassin December 29, 1479 (below)

We had dinner at the Casa di Dante ristorante, near Dante’s house. http://www.frommers.com/destinations/florence/D52155.html

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The next three days Muriel and I visited everything we could in Florence that wasn’t on strike. One day we walked to the Palazzo Vecchio and found all the taxis in town parked there. Scioppero! The taxis were on strike. Sunday the Uffizi was free and there was a flower show outside, so that was open and wonderful. But we couldn’t find a restaurant because the restaurant workers were on strike. Fortunately the churches were never on strike and there were many of those to choose from (Chiesa Santo Spiritu was our favorite for simple devotional feeling, but we also liked S. Maria del Carmine where the Masaccio’s are, San Lorenzo where the Medici chapel is, Santa Maria Novella where the frescoes of Ghirlandaio and others are, Santa Croce where Galileo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli and many other famous Florentines are buried), and they were always having Mass so Muriel was happy. The musicians seemed never to be on strike either, and if we stopped by a church in the evening, we might find an organ concert about to begin. On the 28th, my 44th birthday, we visited Casa Guidi, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s house on Via Maggio, the Pitti Palace, the Boboli gardens, Fiesole, and ended at a concert at the Palazzo Vecchio—Debussy, Sati, Poulenc, Milhoud.

April 29, we each did our own thing in the morning--I went through the Casa di Dante and bought another skirt-- then we met for lunch at a restaurant down a few steps into a little hole just off the Ponte Vecchio. We found the Palatine Gallery at the Pitti Palace still closed! The only solution must be to live in Florence, like EBB did. We made do with another visit to our favorite churches—Santa Spiritu and Maria del Carmine (Masaccio’s Expulsion of Adam and Eve, left), then as this was our last day in Florence for we were leaving the next day for Venice. We also decided to visit Santa Croce (the Giotto frescoes and the sacristy) and the beautiful Pazzi Chapel of Brunelleschi (right) next to the cloisters. Casa Buonorati was closed

and we planned to go back the next day. (I completely forgot that we had a reservation to go to the Medici villas the next day. I must never even have mentioned it to Muriel, who would have loved it.) After dinner we learned that all the museums would be on strike the next day, Wednesday (maybe the Medici villas were included). We decided it was time to leave for Venice. There were too many strikes in Florence.

Venice On April 30 we each paid our hotel bill of 31,000 lire ($50) for 5 nites and left Florence. We were going to Venice on the 10:50 a.m. train, arriving at 2:10. We took the vaporetto to a stop in St. Mark’s Square and paid a faccino to bring our bags to the Concordia Hotel, a 17th-century Venetian home, it is “the only hotel in Venice with a view of St. Mark’s,” http://www.hotelconcordia.com/en/ Rates for a single without bath—8500 lire ($14).

After admiring our view of St. Mark’s out the little window, we had a fish dist at the Ristorante Langostino, then sauntered into St. Mark’s

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Square as if we we habituees of the place, instead of on our first visit. Inside the basilica, we were absolutely blown away by the blazing splendor of the mosaics. That evening, we walked around the square blazing with light, flirted with a petty officer Rafaello and his friend Rosario, who bought us drinks while we listened to music. It was so romantic I wished I were on my honeymoon.

The next day was Calendimaggio, May 1, Thursday and we wanted to see the lagoon islands so took a water taxi to Murano, saw the glass factory and museum there, then walked to the #12 stop and went on to Burano with its painted houses and these two charming little girls. From there we went on to Torcello and visited the Romanesque Church of St. Fosca and the Basilica of Santa Maria Assunta with its Byzantine mosaics. Back at St. Mark’s

again, after lunch we climbed to the loggia del Cavallo (where the horses are) and saw the treasury of St. Mark’s, with the hand of St. Mark, along with

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relics of Sts. Philip, Matthias, James the Greater, and the fabulous Golden Screen. Muriel came back from having been at Mass, saying that there was an opera tonite, so we got all dressed up for the opera and went to the Chiesa S. Fantin opposite the Teatro La Fenice, but nothing was happening either place, so we ate there at a pizza place in our fine clothes, and came back at 10:30. I was very happy with the day, but Muriel was disappointed in not having seen an opera in La Fenice. The following day we wanted to see the Doges Palace, which we did, including the prisons and crossed the bridge of sighs. Then Muriel went to Mass and I went to American Express, but found no mail. An American girl I met there had gone to Greece from Brindisi by ferry and said not to bother getting a cabin because you can sleep on deck. Muriel would be leaving that weekend from Rome, and I would be on my own again and was wondering where to go next. Greece sounded like a good idea. Muriel was heading toward Milan--especially La Scala, and I wanted to stay on in Venice to see more paintings. She was a scientist, not an artist, and did not want to waste her time going through art galleries with me. She left late afternoon on Friday, May 2. We would meet in Rome on Sunday, May 4, around 8 p.m. at the train station. On the way back, I photographed the Grand Canal from the vaporetto, and went across to San Giorgio to see the Palladio church, climbing to the top of and taking pictures from there. Back at San Marco, I had my hair done and had dinner and went to bed early, listening to the piazza orchestras playing “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In.” It sounded like people were marching around the square, and I was sorry I had missed it. Saturday I wanted to see most of the rest of the paintings I hadn’t seen yet. There was a lot! After breakfast I took the vaporetto for the Accademia to see the primitives and the Tintorettos and Titians there. I thought that Tintoretto must have covered more canvas space than any artist in the world. His Descent from the Cross is below left. From the Accademia, I took the Vaporetto to the Ca d’Oro--closed, so I walked to the huge church of SS. John and Paul, where many doges were buried. The powerful Colleoni equestrian statue by Verrochio is nearby.

After some shopping along the Rialto for Venetian glass pieces as gifts (a candy dish for my parents) I visited the Scuola di S. Rocco, which has 57 Tintorettos! He worked there for 18 years. I loved the Crucifixion, Annunciation, Christ before Pilate. For a good website of Tintoretto’s religious paintings, look at http://www.biblepainting.com/tintoretto/ From there I went over to the Church of Mary of the Friars where more doges are buried, along with Monteverdi. Some Titians, especially the Assumption over the main altar (below), and a Bellini in the sacristy, which claims to have Christ’s blood in a reliquary!

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I had gone to everything I could in the Michelin green guide. I still have it, and see that my red checks are there by everything I visited. It was evening, so after walking back to the Square along the Rialto, looking at more glass, but realizing that Venice was a very expensive town, I stopped in for 7 p.m. Mass in San Marco at the main altar before the iconostasis. The setting was very dramatic. Below: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Piazza San Marco, Venice (1881)

I was tired but wanted to go to the “salon drawing room” to hear music. I was approached by one man, then by three men who wanted to accompany me, so I got afraid and ran back to the square, where I sat, ate, wrote cards, and listened to the band play Viva Espagna, with everyone singing and shouting. It was a fun last evening in Venice.

Rome The next morning, I packed and went to ten o’clock mass in the Basilica, which turned out to be a solemn high mass at the main altar over the body of St. Mark. The choir sang, the celebrants incensed the congregation, the organ music filled the basilica, the mosaics glittered. It was thrilling. I paid my bill, checked out and took my bag to the train station, where I bought a ticket to Rome for about $10. We left at 12:43 and arrived at 8:35. Those European trains are unbeatable. We arrived in the Tiburtine station and there were no facchino or porters, and of course no escalators, so I ended up carrying my molto pesante valigi down the stairs, under the tracks, then up to get to the bus station, to get the #9 bus to the Termini, where I met Muriel. Hurrah! Pensione Erdarelli at Via Due Macelli, 28, was full, but we got Room #2 at a sister pensione, Pensione Pierina , Via Due Macelli, 47. That night we went to see the movie Fantozzi, directed by Luciano Salce, about the accountant Ugo Fantozzi, played by Paolo Villagio.

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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paolo_Villaggio. The unfortunate Fantozzi’s problems (pratfalls) are mostly visual, so Muriel and I had no problem with the language.

The next day Muriel wanted to shop, as she was leaving the next day, and she wanted to go to the Via Veneto, a part of Rome I hadn’t been to but really wasn’t interested in. It was somewhere my mother would have gone, I knew, and that turned me away. I had a headache and needed to buy a box and paper, tape and string to send a package home. After that I felt nervous. Muriel did that to me. At 7:30 she called to tell me to meet her at 9 at a theatre (or opera), but I didn’t feel like it, so didn’t go and couldn’t get a hold of her to tell her so. She called to say they were sold out anyway, she came home and had forgiven me and brought me hot tea and toast, for which I reimbursed her. I slept. Muriel was leaving early the next day. We rose early on Tuesday, May 6, and Muriel left at 5:45 a.m., but called at 6:30 to say the airport was on STRIKE! We laughed and back she came. The strike would be over by evening. I was planning on life after Muriel. I was going to Greece. First I had to mail the two packages I had prepared. I found a post office and got instructions and planned to take them there later. I found a hairdresser near the Pantheon where we both had our hair done, then I treated her for her last meal trattoria. We returned to the hotel and while she rested I checked to find that the train to Brindisi leaves at 1:48 and arrives at 9:36, and the boat for Greece leaves at 10:30. A berth cost 25,000 lire ($40) and I needed to make a reservation a day ahead. I wanted to go to Tivoli and the Castelli Romani, but the villas were also on strike. To get to the Castelli, I needed to take a bus from San Giovanni Laterani, leaving every half hour. Muriel left again around 3 to catch a 5:15 p.m. flight that would get her to New York by 8 p.m. time. She was happy with that, so away she went. I am glad that my being in Italy on a sabbatical inspired her to come and travel with me, because she wouldn’t have traveled there by herself, and she loved it. Muriel passed away in 2004 of cancer. I don’t think she ever went back to Italy. In 1984 she and I traveled to France together, with her silver poodle Lily Fleur in her flight bag, but that is another story. (Read about Lily Fleur in Muriel’s tribute to her on her death in 2000: http://72.14.203.104/search?q=cache:208CKXWBL2QJ:www.petloss.com/2ktribut/ltrib2k.htm+%22muriel+lippman%22&hl=en&gl=us&ct=clnk&cd=11&lr=lang_en