Shame faced I must admit that my absolute requirement for luncheon is air conditioning. There are a million wonderful outdoor restaurants that were calling out to us; I just couldn’t stay in the heat. We followed directions to a place recommended by a bunch of guide books, knowing it was only outside, hoping I’d be willing to sit in the heat when we got there, but, no! Does the necessity of air conditioning make me an ugly American? If so, I embrace the title. And celebrate the Fourth of July. Always disconcerting to spend an American holiday in a foreign land. Not that I expect everyone to celebrate what I celebrate but it always a reminder that what is special for me or mine is just another day for someone else. And vis a versa. Perhaps we could celebrate some special day every day.

I read over yesterday’s offering and was a bit abashed at my complaining; however, to add to the minor irritants of the day, I add that tomorrow, July 5, is the fifth anniversary of David’s death and I am never at my strongest in the days leading up to the anniversary day.

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Not all is perfect or amazing or kind or wonderful. We are having a day or two of that. I don’t have the luxury of complaining to someone or really being cranky. Julia is somewhat responsive when I tell her that the day is frustrating me and I have a head ache which is pretty good for her. I am at the point in the trip of really missing adult contact. Unfortunately, the Florence contact that I had was not responsive when I tried to get in touch and I didn’t pursue him further. On the train to Venice, I see that was a mistake. There was no conversation in the breakfast room at the convent. We went early and late depending on the day but the most there would be would be a single person either leaving as we entered or coming as we left. Breakfast was not impressive-juice, bread, butter, jam and coffee or milk-which was fine to start our day but it was pretty basic and others may have gone out for breakfast. I am growing a bit lonely but still grateful for the ability to write here and the comments and likes that kind readers offer.

On another note, breakfast always included a jar of Nutella and Julia has managed to eat Nutella every day of this vacation. She has not tired of pasta and last night recognized the dish she wanted on the menu in Italian. Speghiti con pomodoro e basilica. Not a great translation feat but I was proud of her. She is also ready to have pizza for any meal and has found Italian chopped liver to be very good. Me too for that last one. The chopped liver we’ve eaten in Italy is generally more saltier and pasty than the Jewish variety that David made.

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There are churches that are overwhelming or impressive or quiet and holy. I wanted to write about Siena’s Duomo, Romanesque-gothic and striped inside and out, but before I had the chance, we are in Florence and in that city’s duomo. A comparison is striking although the both were built as shows of powerful cities. I forgot that there is no internal foyer in Siena. You step through the doors and you are engulfed, enmeshed, given over to the overstimulation that is that church. There is no calm surface to rest eyes-wall, ceiling, floor all cry out for attention. I find it hard to focus, almost hard to breathe. It is like drinking far too much, like an intense and almost painful love at first sight, like the dessert of an already over-rich meal that cannot be refused. Is this what it feels like to be unable to filter priorities? Is this an autistic-like experience for the typically minded? It is glorious and debilitating. I don’t know if anyone else feels thee same way about the place. I felt it 30 years ago and again two days ago. I don’t think I could comfortably worship a deity or sit in meditation in that place but it makes an impression like nothing else. I love it and find it amazingly uncomfortable.

We did a tour inside the Duomo has only existed for three years. We were escorted up a winding stairway that is concealed behind a painted door at the main entrance to the Duomo. This was a passage once reserved for those who worked on the building and decorations. We walked high over the floor between the outside and inside walls and were able to look at both the inside of the church and the roofs of Siena at a few points. Both views were breath taking. Seeing the church from so high above put the decoration in context for me. It also removed me a little from the stimulation of the surround of the Duomo and I could see.

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Without any prodding now, I am ordering a glass of wine with lunch. Red in Tuscany. Red is what is made here and it is what the house wine is. And I am still not getting tired afterwards. What is different about Italian wine in Italy. Or perhaps it is me.

Today has a completely different feel from yesterday. Today, we slept in, had eggs for breakfast and then drove to Bagno Vignoni to take the waters. Is that the correct verb? We arrive just after noon. The web site said the particular place we want to go was closed from noon to 1 but on sight the attendant says from noon to 2 even though there is a sign that says until 1:30. This is a part of the character of Italian travel that can be very frustrating to the uninitiated. I vividly remember fighting it 30 years and then giving up. Absolutely no reason to even mention the sign or the online information now. There is nothing to do but find a restaurant, order pizza and a glass of wine and get more change for the parking meter. Yes, even in romantic Tuscany you need to feed the meter. Continue reading →