23 Days in Italy- Day Six- Florence

On my sixth day in Italy, I meet the perfect guy in Florence. And he’s hot too.

He’s the one and only Michelangelo’s David.

When I first saw him standing there, underneath his very own dome in the Academia with a gentle sunlight from the ceiling falling on his perfectly toned body, I caught my breath. My goodness, David, no wonder you are Firenze’s landmark! How can you be made of marble yet so look so alive?

I literally sit there in the Academia after my tour ends and drink him up with my eyes for another 20 minutes.

(Image from wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_(Michelangelo))

Of course I am tired too- after an early morning train ride, and being lost in Firenze under the hot Tuscan sun, and then having a two hour crash course in pre-renaissance art history at the Uffizi I do need this rest.

***

So it was on my fourth day in Italy that loneliness started to sink in. Outside of the lab I have no one to hang out with or talk to or go to dinner with. I have no means of making friends, because I am at a research institute, and there are hardly any students or people my age. So that evening I didn’t go out to dinner and sulked around my apartment, electing to eat canned soup and finish off all the strawberries in my fridge and then started watching an unhealthy amount of Gossip Girl on the Internet.

After three episodes, I decided I’ve had enough of this feeling sorry for myself, and I should definitely not stay in Torino on the weekend and continue this trend. And so I booked a train ticket to Firenze for the weekend and a hostel bed near the city center.

And so Saturday morning, I find myself waking up at 6:30 am so I can get myself to the train station and catch the 7:37am superfast train to Firenze. I usually can’t even get up before 8:30 for work! But Firenze is calling, and I manage. Besides, a 67 Euro train ticket hangs in the balance.

I love trains. Trains are wonderful. The United States needs more trains. Enough said!

The high speed train is worth the 67 Euros because by 11:00 am I am lost in the streets of Firenze. I spend a good 30 minutes walking around trying to figure out which street I am near, because the map in my pdf guidebook on my ipod is too rough to be of any help. In the end I give up, and go in a general direction that “seems right”. A few minutes later I am on the street that belongs to my hostel, and I drop off my very very minimal backpack that only contains a change of clothes and my toothbrush. (It is so nice to have a base to explore from!)

Since this is a semi last minute trip, I fail to pre-book online a reservation to the insanely popular museum, the Uffizi. The Uffizi, the guidebooks say, have the best collection of Renessaince art in Italy. Apparently one can stand in line for 3 hours and get in.

Nor do I have a reservation to see David at the Academia. I walk by the Academia, and the line seems manageable there, but I do not feel like standing in line for an hour by myself with no company…

So I find my way to the tour agency, “Walking tours of Florence”, that Rick Steves’ (and the New York Times and apparently a bunch of other people) have recommended. When you’re in a tour group, they make the reservations and you can bypass the lines. I pay them a hefty price for tours of the Uffizi and the Academia. I figure I have only 2 days to spend here, so I best make the most of it. And later I discover the tour is very much worth it!

I sneak in a large cup of gelato for lunch before the tour starts. I have dark chocolate and pistachio and “flavor of the month”, which involves yogurt, raisons and pecans. As I am eating my gelato, I forget I am lonely in Italy, I forget I don’t speak the language, I forget I am eating too many carbs and will be fat when I get back to Ithaca… Ice cream! Melts all my worries away!

I meet the tour with ice cream in hand. The tour guide, a British-Italian lady, Elizabeth, has a good sense of humor and is quite well read on her subject. As we walk through the Uffizi museum I learn about the evolution of art as a science, and the evolution of art as reflection on culture and life of the times.

Uffizi means office, these were the government offices built by the rulers of Florence (the Medici) and quite a nice space to have a museum. We look at different pieces of Mary and Baby Jesus, and see how these painters learn how to capture 3D on a 2D surface, learn how to make figures look real and full-bodied. The theme of Mary and Baby Jesus is the topic of most paintings, and we see as time progresses from medieval towards the renaissance they become more “human”. Baby Jesus goes from being a minature adult to an actual chubby lovable huggable baby.

We move through the renaissance, and the subject matter starts to be more varied, with paintings by Boticelli of greek gods and portraits of private rich people. And even at the very end an erotic painting. Claimed to be one of the first of its kind. (That I don’t know if I believe. Haha.)

There are two Da Vinci’s in the museum. I am not impressed until Elizabeth points out the interesting facts about them to me. One of them is the Adoration of the Magi, where the kings worship baby Jesus. This is a theme that has repeated itself many times in the paintings we’ve seen chronologically. While in the other paintings, the kings were always well dressed, and handsome, and the people were nice looking, in Da Vinci’s version, everybody (except for Mary and Baby Jesus) involved looks like they’re suffering, and they are ugly. Apparently, Da Vinci is trying to capture true human nature… He says that everybody wears masks all the time, it’s only when they are dying that we take the masks off… I think about this statement. I think about the masks I wear. Sometimes I don’t know where my mask ends and where myself begins. And I wonder do I look like a dying skeleton without my mask? I don’t think I’ve faced any grand challenges in this life yet, and so maybe my true nature has yet to be revealed?

I am so happy to be on this tour. I feel it is worth all of the 40 euros I paid. To hear English. To be with other English-speaking people! I wouldn’t have understood all this art if I had wandered through the museum on my own. I would've been oh, okay, very old art, interesting. Oh, big name here, big name there, must be important.

After the Uffizi, we go to the Academia and hear about Michelangelo and his life and his style of working. How he was a perfectionist who did everything himself. How he would study anatomy- how else could you sculpt a person without knowing what’s going on inside? And this was in a time when dissecting human bodies was illegal. Medical students got to look at one a year. One. He got heaps from the Church. All because he was freaking good at what he did. (Moral of the story: always be freaking good at whatever you do!) He was the first of his kind, a modern artist, who gave this image of the inspired and eccentric genius, and was a millionaire when he died.

We look at the “prisoners”, half-finished sculptures by Michelangelo that were commissioned by a pope for his own tomb, but never got finished, because there were always other popes and other projects. But they are called the prisoners because though they are unfinished, they are already life-like enough to seem to be struggling to break free from the marble and stone that is trapping them.

And then we see David. We walk all around him, and look at the way he is structured. The fine details and precision at which Michelangelo has designed him. The way his muscles are tense, ready to spring to action, how he is swallowing in anticipation, the way his diaphragm is stretched, signaling him taking a breath in, and admire the fact that when Michelangelo got this piece of marble it was something no other sculptor had wanted to work with, being the wrong shape and flawed in a couple of places.

I am so happy to be on this tour. I feel it is worth all of the 40 euros I paid. To hear English. To be with other English-speaking people! I wouldn’t have understood all this art without somebody telling me in my ear what was going on. And to hear all these interesting ancedotes about people long past.

The other members of the tours are three families with college-aged kids, and two couples. I am quite an oddity, in the world of sightseeing. I see maybe one fellow lone traveler the entire two days I am here. People tend to move around in pairs or packs. The tour guide asks me “Are you by yourself? Are you enjoying yourself?” I say “Yes!” with enthusiasm. It is half the truth. The enthusiasm and yes are for me more than anyone else. I fully enjoy keeping my own pace wandering through town and taking things in the way I want to. I enjoy making decisions like taking a tour or going to a restaurant without having to consider the financial circumstances of other travel companions. But then somewhere deep down I do want to be in a pair or in a pack.

But as I stare at David, I don’t mind I am alone. Because in this moment, it is just me and him. It’s perfection.

To be continued…

23 Days in Italy- Day One

So I am in Torino, Italy. Half asleep. Just had dinner. I am too tired to walk around. So I am spending my time typing this detailed and boring description of my first day.

My goodbye to the United States yeterday was a half-price happy-hour Starbucks strawberry and crème frappucino at the Washington-Dulles airport. My uneventful flight was started with a rather bland movie, and then was wrapped up by me trying in vain to get some sleep- armed with eyemask, earplugs, and neck pillow. I kept drifting off into random thoughts but not sleep, one of my tho ughts was wishing that I were one of those really petite Asian girls who could just curl up their legs onto the economy class seat into a neat little ball. I saw a girl from Malaysia do that once- I was at once very impressed and very envious. I don’t usually resent that I am not short. Except when I am on a plane.

But I arrive in Munich! The airport is more spotless than Narita, and I am impressed. The border official asks me what I plan to do in Torino. “Look around.” You really can’t demand people to come up with elaborate sentences when they have just gotten off an 8 hour flight. He smiles at me and teases, “Look around? At hot guys?” I laugh and look at his smile and realize the border guy is quite cute himself, shaved head and all.

I decide I like German people. They have a very clean airport. Some of them (or maybe only the border guy) are quite good looking. They seem to have nice smiles. (The lady at the Lufthansa ticket counter also gave me a smile that made me feel like a million bucks, do they include this in all types of employee training?) And they are tall. I don’t know. I have a thing for tall people. I do. Except for when I want to be curled up into a ball on the plane.

And Lufthansa has free coffee, free espresso. I drink two of them waiting for my flight to Torino, which turns out to be a good idea, because it turns out to be delayed and at 10 a.m. Germany time in the morning my body is screaming 4 a.m.! 4 a.m.! 4 a.m.!

It might’ve been coffee or boredom, but in the middle of the bustling shiny clean airport I get out my laptop, and (gasp!) start doing work! I make 2 rough plots while waiting for my flight, humming “Good Morning Baltimore” to myself. I don’t know why this song has been stuck in my head for a few days now. It is the perkiness I aspire to in my life. Of course I aspire to it mostly because lately I am more glum than perky, especially when it is rainy and cold in Ithaca. But while I’m humming this and working on plots, I feel being in a different country is helping. Anyways, by the time I shut down mathematica, I feel like “every day’s like an open door, every night is a fantasy!”

On the short 1 hour flight to Torino, they have free wine. (okay, I know, wine is cheap in Europe, cheaper than Coke probably). But in actual glasses made out of glass! And the flight attendants smile at you when asking what you want to drink instead of exhuming impatience. (I understand that it is hard to be a flight attendant, but then it is also hard to be a passenger too).

I spend the flight staring out the window at the alps. I tell myself I should go hiking sometime. But at this point the thought just makes me feel tired. And then I stare at the towns in between… for some reason, Europeans seem to have an obsession with red rooftops. I think it is cute.

And I get to Torino, the caffeine wearing off, and I'm tired and beat, but Gianfranco is there to greet me. Gianfranco is a very enthusiastic host, as he drives me to where I’m staying he tells me about the city, where to eat where to shop what to dowhere the main market place is… There is a main plaza: Plaza Castello, that reminds me of Plaza Mayor in Madrid, except better scenery. Torino is situated near glacial hills and mountains. It’s quite pretty. And the holy shroud, it’s on exhibit, I need to go see that.

I notice, on the flight and in the city, that I don’t understand what’s going on, not when people are talking nor reading the signs on the street! I realize this is the first time I’m in a country that I don’t know the language. (So in Mexico and Spain I sort of knew the basics). Here I don’t even remember the word for bathroom. It is an exhilarating thought. Once now and then I catch an interchangeable phrase with Spanish or something simple (such as the pilot apologizing for the delay by saying “molto molto trafico”). This and the fact that spoken Italian sounds like singing is enough to make me feel at ease… for now. Later I’ll have to deal with ordering at restaurants or getting an internet connection or a phone card or something nasty and then I’ll start feeling homesick. But for now I’m excited.

The self-service apartment I’m staying in is very cosy. So it is a room with a bathroom and a kitchenette. The kitchenette turns out to be disguised as a cabinet. Not that I expect I’ll be cooking at all…

Gianfranco shows me around the area and points out where to get essentials, where to get food… it turns out he used to work near here as a scientist some years ago, and so knows where is the best coffee, etc. Then he says "see you tomorrow morning!" And I am ready to venture off into the Italian speaking Torino!

I go to Carrefour and pick up some soap and shampoo. Good old Carrefour! Although I don’t understand anything, I figure out which price is for which thing, I can survive this! I like Carrefour. It was my supply of cheap everyday food when I was in Barcelona three summers ago. It is my supply of cheap snacks and teas when I’m in Taipei. I try to remember Gianfranco’s advice when randomly crossing the road “be certain, that’s the key”. (Basically people are crazy and cars are crazy and I’m amazed that the few hours I’ve been here, I haven’t seen an accident).

But then it’s dinnertime… I decide to be brave and eat at a proper restaurant. No it’s not dining alone that scares me. I have gotten over my fear of dining alone quite some time ago. I have traveled alone enough that it has become a necessity. And I’ve adapted. I’ve found it’s quite fun to rudely observe other people while waiting for food, and then quietly concentrate on the food when it arrives, and then take time to sit and sip water (or a drink) and muse about your experience after you are done. And there’s no trouble in dividing the cheque whatsoever!

No, what I have qualms about is the Italian and my lack of understanding of it. I figure I won’t recognize much on the menu, and I’ll stumble my way in ordering food. I decide to go to a pizzaria. There’s two in the neighborhood that Gianfranco mentioned. One that’s hit or miss, the other that’s good but the people are mean. I figure I’ll go with the nice people my first day here and risk the bad food.

I go into this place. It seems just the right atmosphere. The clientele include people in suits that have just gotten off from work, teenagers hanging out, families with babies… this makes me at ease. This must be the equivalent of applebees or something…

I am greeted with “Buona sera”, and the server points me to a table and hands me a menu. I stumble with a “Grazie”, and start to struggle reading the menu. I decide on the rosmarino, just because I recognize all the ingredients, and then vino bianco. (only because I don’t want beer or Coke, and besides the wine IS cheaper than the CocaCola…) I close my menu and sit purposefully, and the waiter comes over and writes a 30 on the table, saying “treinta”. I look quizzically at him. He says something in Italian and I realize he means that this is my number… And he suddenly understands that I’m a foreigner (I wonder it wasn’t obvious?) and asks, “English?”, and hands me an English menu. But I am ready to order, so I say with uncertainty what I want, and the most difficult part is done.

I do not know if the pizza was good. By my own tastebuds it was okay. Not spectacular but okay. I am too self-conscious at this point to take a picture of my food (which is what I often do when I am a tourist). I neatly finish my food, and ponder how to ask for the check. I remember reading it in the guidebook somewhere. But all that comes to mind is the Spanish version “la cuenta, por favor”, and I’m sure that’s not right somehow, might be close but not right. I’m all frazzled about this when I discover people just up and leave an pay at the front. I am so relieved at this! And as I get up to go I think to myself I need to go look this up! And I'm thinking if only I had gotten that phrase book from my officemate when I had the chance...

It is "Il conto, por favore." And if I want dessert next time, that is "tiramisu, por favore". Haha.