The Happiest Place on Earth?

What's going on, Pil?  I thought you were going to Denmark--not Disneyland.
I am, but Danes regularly top the happiness polls for folks with greatest life satisfaction.
Seriously?  Why?
Well, that's what I'm here to find out, but first let's have some fun facts about Denmark.
Hey wait a minute! That's the Little Mermaid!  You ARE going to Disneyland.
Before it was a Disney film, "The Little Mermaid" was a Hans Christian Andersen tale (and a very sad one, too.  I didn't like it at all) and Den Lille Havfrue is Copenhagen's symbol--just as the Eiffel Tower is for Paris.  Nevertheless, while I'll be nowhere near Euro Disney, I will be near the oldest theme park on Earth.
Staring wistfully out to sea, she looks so sad and lonely.  Are you sure Denmark is jolly?
If it is the weather adds nothing to it.  So far north the climate can be harsh, and fall and winter are marked by long stretches of cold and darkness.  Denmark consists of the Jutland Peninsula and a lot of islands.  Copenhagen where I will be is on Sjealland or Zealand.  Yes, they had one of those in the Netherlands, too, and you can find the "New" version in the Southern Pacific.
Denmark is a small, flat country with a small and homogeneous population.  Long ago all the horrid Danes went a-Viking (i.e. my ancestors who ravaged Northern France), and the nice ones stayed home. There are more bikes than cars, and more pigs than people.  But speaking of pigs, Danes consume on average a staggering 142 pounds of pork each.  They are also famous for their butter and cheese.
I get it.  Saturated fat is the secret to their happiness!
Er--and their comparative short life span compared to other Europeans.  The literacy rate is 100%.  Maybe that accounts for their satisfaction.  Danes love their queen, the crown prince, and his Australian wife.  They love their flag.  They follow the rules, pay high taxes, and enjoy a lot of social services, and great public transport.  The country is a sort of semi-socialist constitutional monarchy.
Surveys show that Danes rank among the highest in trust.  Maybe you remember that Danish woman who got into so much trouble in New York City when she left her baby in a stroller outside a cafe.  Well, Danes do that all the time.  They trust people not to hurt or make off with their kids.  Don't try this at home.
I'm spending three weeks in Copenhagen, and I hope you will join me.  With its incomparable livability, many castles, gardens, museums, etc, Copenhagen is wonderful.  There's even a song that says so.  Folks my age may remember the enchanting movie Hans Christian Andersen starring Danny Kaye.  Here's a link so you can enjoy the song, but possibly you need to see the whole movie. Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen

Arrividerci, Firenze!

Buon Giorno!

My plane left early, so I had to make my way through the deserted streets of Florence before daybreak to catch the first bus out to the airport.  Fortunately my new leather jacket and long scarf protected me against the chill.  My rolling suitcase made a horrid noise rattling across the cobbles.

I had to walk carefully.  When I got home from Siena and took off my shoes, I discovered that I finally had succeeded in destroying them.  One shoe had part of the heel completely torn off.  I don't know how it happened, but it did explain why I kept stumbling.

Florence Airport is small, but it has the usual tight security.  No one slides through.  I had to wait while they frisked a Benedictine monk.  I wanted to snoot around duty free but getting through security took so long the boarding was called right away.

What I will miss and won’t—fighting the crowds and the traffic and the cigarette smoke.  People with no respect for lines.  At the bus station this morning an older woman rebuked someone who tried to take cuts but the taking of unauthorized cuts in line is common.  I don’t know how to complain so I am grateful when someone points out "Dude, there’s a Line!"

I won't miss the off hand service in some stores in Florence.  There was the woman at one ticket office, who had to talk on her cell phone while I stood there trying to be patient.  At a fancy grocery store when I was the only one at the register I waited and waited while the check out guy stuck stickers on some piece of paper—like he couldn’t do it after he waited on me?

On the other hand, in craft stores each purchase is treated as a precious object.  They gift wrap it for you or give you the means to gift wrap, or provide beautiful gift boxes.  I'll miss the pride the keepers take in their beautiful shops and the wares they sell.
Ok except for that David torso full "body" apron--perfect for your next barbecue--as long as you want to put your guests off their feed.

Most of all I'll miss the warmth and welcome of the Italian people and their ardent desire that one will appreciate their country and culture.

I enjoyed perfect weather and loved seeing the countryside, which presents the paradox of being both rugged and long inhabited.

I came home via Paris.  Boy was I glad of that leather jacket and scarf in Paris and on the plane.  If you fly through Charles de Gaulle, the odds are you will take a shuttle or navette for a ride lasting from twenty to thirty minutes long.  What with the line at passport control and the long navette ride I had no time to search out the drop for the tax refund form or visit duty free.  We boarded immediately—and then sat at the gate for an hour.

But I like two things about Air France.  One is that you get an actual bottle of water with your meal and they also pass out mini baguettes.  The Champagne they serve as an aperitif doesn't hurt either.

So I had a fabulous trip, and for taking the trouble to share it with me—Molto Grazie e Ciao!

Return to Siena

Buon Giorno

Today is my last full day in Italy, and I decided to return to Siena, a place I greatly enjoyed on a previous trip.  If you are ever in Tuscany you Must Not Miss It.  Siena is another beautiful hilltop town and the historic center is I think another UNESCO World Heritage Site.  But it's more of a working city than a mere tourist attraction.  For example yesterday I wondered what it would be like to live in San Gimignano.  I concluded it would be delightful in spring and summer and dismal in fall and winter when the weather was foul and there was nothing but stark walls of stone.  Siena would be more livable all year long.

Siena makes an easy day trip from Florence.  I took the bus, but one can also take a train and then walk to the historic center.  By taking the train, however, you miss the ride through the countryside.  I arrived in good time at the bus station and got my return ticket.  I make a point of being on the spot so I can get a good window seat.

The bus filled up and among the last to get on was an American couple.  They insisted on having a seat together and asked me to move.  I declined.  "I’m a tourist.  I want a window seat."  So the woman began to rearrange passengers.  She found another window seat for me, so I agreed to move.

Almost immediately I was sorry.  These idiots had loud penetrating voices and right away got into an nasty argument. 

Thank you, morons, for contributing to the stereotype of Ugly Americans that I and many other travelers are working so hard to dispel.

Apart from having to listen to them the whole time, it was a gorgeous ride across the Tuscan countryside with the vineyards, blossoming trees and all.

We arrived late because traffic was jammed.  Siena was having its market day!  The market is huge and I saw only a small portion of it.  The thing to do once one tears oneself a way from the market is to stroll to the bowl-like Il Campo, Siena's central piazza ringed by souvenir stands, shops, and restaurants.  In the middle you'll find tour groups or smaller gatherings just hanging out in the sunshine.  If you want a spot to sit down and enjoy your gelato, this is a good one.

You can also buy tickets for Siena's museums, which are worth seeing for Duccio's Virgin and Child Enthroned with Saints, and some notable fresco cycles.  Those with strong legs can climb a tower to get wonderful views over the city and countryside.

But my first task was to find a toilet!  I did just off Il Campo but I had to pay eighty euro cents for my relief.  Then I set off in search of gelato.  As it was my last go, I had my favorites hazelnut and amarena plus some chocolate.

I kept climbing until I reached the top of the city crowned by the ornately decorated Duomo.  The marble facing of both the exterior and interior is amazing and very beautiful.

After touristing the opportunities to lick windows and even buy things are abundant.  In addition to the kinds of tourist offerings one finds in Florence, Siena also has symbols of the contrade, the districts of the city that compete in the yearly horse race called the Palio.  Naturally I gravitate toward the Nicchio, the scallop shell that is also the sign of pilgrimage.  I already had my Niccho scarf but could not find anything else bearing the symbol, so I bought a slightly mismatched pair of small candlesticks.

Siena is steep with narrow winding streets and passages.  It was easy to get in but on my way back to the bus station I got lost.  The Italians I approached for directions although they could not speak English were kind and helpful.  The bus back was a double decker and packed to the rafters.  Fortunately I was there early enough to snag my window seat.

For dinner, I polished off the Vernaccia and had pumpkin stuffed pasta for dinner—It's a Lombardian specialty that I learned to like in Milan—shush, don’t tell!

Ciao

San Gimignano

Buon Giorno

The weather has turned, which one must expect if one stays in Europe for more than a day or so.  I have been fortunate that I have had temperatures not too hot and not too cold.  Today the sky dripped a little and it stayed overcast, but I had my stout shoes and umbrella, so I went forth.

When I visited last time I took a bus to Siena and from the road I looked up and saw the famed towers of the hill top town of San Gimignano silhouetted against the sky. I wanted to go there.  Today I did, but it took some doing.

Riding buses makes me nervous.  See previous post.  No bus runs direct from Florence to San Gimignano, a destination unmissable because of All Those Towers.  I went to the bus station, obtained a round trip ticket and got on the local to Siena.  Fortunately several other English-speaking tourists boarded as well and between them and the questions they asked we got sorted out.  Riding through the clogged, narrow streets with no idea of the traffic patterns and rules can be harrowing, but once out of the city, we entered the heart-catching Tuscan countryside.

Picture a landscape of rolling hills and gentle river valleys.  Each hill is crowned by a villa surrounded by tall cypress trees.  On the slopes below lie vineyards and silvery olive groves.  The vines have not yet come into leaf so the stalks sit bare.  Some of the fields glow bright green.

Said villas are owned or rented by rich folks—or the occasional group of the rest that can go together on expenses.

Our transfer point was Poggiobuonsi.  I strolled about a little rather than just stand for twenty minutes at the bus stop.  At length our bus came and we piled in for another trip through the countryside past farms offering their own olive oil and wine.  We climbed catching the occasional glimpse of towers.

But San Gimignano burst on us by surprise.  We rounded a corner and the bus dropped us off by the city gate.  The town is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is beautifully preserved and Very Touristy, the latter an advantage in my opinion.  There used to be a lot more towers—I can’t remember how many—because prosperous families back in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries competed for the highest status symbol.  You can climb one if you like, and the town boasts a few attractions you can pay for, but the real sight is the town itself, and the visitor can spend a very happy day strolling the cobbled streets, poking around the shops, and snacking.  Every other store sells souvenirs, often of very high quality (and price!) and in between them are food stores.  What do you want?  Gelato?  Pizza?  Regional specialties?  Had I but known I would have gone there first and then had more food news to regale you with.  I did buy a bot of the local wine.  I like Vernaccia di San Gimignano quite a bit in Italy, but the versions one gets in the United States taste bland.  The bottle I got had a fresh fruity flavor that went very well with my evening pasta once I got home.

Mostly I strolled up and down the streets walking under arches and exploring the fortress and the passages.  I enjoyed the piazzas and the narrow winding streets.  Often I escaped the tourist throngs.  Along the outskirts by the city walls are beautiful panoramas of the Tuscan countryside.

I had some chocolate gelato that was so rich, it was like eating a bowl of frosting.  This is a Good Thing.

But the afternoon was passing and tour busses and school trips arrived.  Time to go.  But where to get the bus home?  The drop off point was not the pick up point after all, but with the help of some kindly Italians, I did find the proper bus stop.  But the bus was late!

The suspense!  Would I make my connection to Florence or would I be stuck in Poggiobuonsi for two and a half hours?  It was an anxious ride downhill, but my fears proved vain.  We arrived in plenty of time, and I was able to relax and enjoy the beautiful ride back to Florence.

It's not Tuscany without a Medici Villa

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Truly.

But one has to work at it.

I spent some of the morning shopping, but the weather was nice and I wanted to continue to do things that I did not do last time.  Getting out of the historic center for the afternoon also looked good.  I'd always wanted to visit one of the Medici Villas, so this seemed like a great opportunity.

I walked across the city to the tourist office and got bus information.  Those of you who have read my previous chronicles know that I dislike taking buses.  I never know when to get off.  I alight either Too Soon or Too Late and seldom Just Right.

I went to Santa Maria Novella train station not as a result of a sudden loss of sanity, but because I needed a toilet—sixty euro cents worth—but it’s nice to know that one can usually find one in a train station although it took some major hunting.

Then I went to a Tabacchi.  Ugh.  But one can get bus tickets there, and it’s better to buy them in advance.  I sought out the bus stop.

The area around stations bus and train are rarely charming.  I had to wait about ten minutes for the bus.  I got on, validated my ticket, and found a seat.  Off we went.  But where should I get off?  The young woman at the tourist office implied that this particular bus would take me near the Villa Medici Petraia.  So I watched the display for any stop that made sense.

A young American couple got on.  They had no tickets, but figured out they could get them from the driver—it’s cheaper to get them beforehand—and did not know they needed to validate the tickets.  I spoke up.  Travelers code.

Old cities feature narrow twisting streets definitely not meant for motor vehicles, but they are clogged with cars and motorcycles.  Riding along in a bus is an experience in itself.  Most of the streets are one way, and there's no straight shot to wherever one wants to go.  I did see some sights.  We passed pretty parks and remaining fragments of the city walls. 

So we wound our way from the historic center to some real people neighborhoods with my eyes flapping.  I began to see signs for my destination.  Cool!

And we proceeded and I saw more signs.  Gee.  Should I have gotten off?  Or may be the bus would wind up hill?

Or not.  End of the line.  I got off determined to walk back and find that Villa.  So.  I turned back the way we'd come.  Found a sign and turned up hill and walked.  Up hill and followed signs.  It took about twenty minutes including an encounter with some Carbinari with some bloodhounds who showed no interest in me whatsoever.  Too bad because I liked the dogs and the guys were. . . Ahem.

Then another turn uphill and I saw the villa.

You see, Florence is in sort of a bowl.  Inhabitants of Los Angeles will understand the words basin and conversion layer.  I visit in spring because it’s pleasant enough at this time of year, but during the summer the heat and humidity are awful.  One cannot blame the rich for fleeing the heat and crowds  for refuges in the foothills such as this.

The design of the house is typically Italian, and the style survives to the present day.  The villa has flat walls, stained yellow with small walls and shutters.  Although the exterior is plain, the inside is decorated with frescoes.

 A formal garden with fountains and balustraded stairs leads up to the building.  I mostly wandered among the flower beds enjoying the fresh air and the view.  I eyed the wooded parkland behind the villa longingly.  I would have enjoyed a stroll under the trees, but the park was closed.

So I managed to find the villa, but apart from that I had no idea where I was or how to catch the bus back.  Downhill seemed my best bet, so at every opportunity I walked downhill until I came to a main street and saw bus stops.

I had my ticket. I waited. Urban Italian bus stops are high tech.  They will not merely tell you the line but how long it is you have to wait, and it was not long.

By this time the afternoon had turned slightly sultry, and my thoughts turned inevitably to gelato, but I noticed something on the bus and walking along the streets.  I felt warm, but I was the only one on the bus with my bare arms hanging out.  The rest of the people on the bus, and most of the Italians on the street were bundled up, some in their leather jackets and nearly all had a scarf wound around their necks.  I noticed this in Milan last year, too.  I do not know why it is.

The flavors of the day consisted of rose—highly recommended by the proprietor—sweet and fragrant, some pine nut—tasty, but too subtle for me, and one of my favorites, Amarena.

Ciao!

Up and Down

A word to the wise.  If you intend to excite people’s charity as a beggar, don’t sit there yakking on your cell phone—just saying.

My trip is half done, and I have ticked off most of what I wanted to see in the city.  Narrow streets, gray stone, and crowds eventually get me down, so it was time for something different.  I crossed the Ponte Vecchio walked along the Arno for a bit and then turned under and arch and began to climb.  And climb.  And then I climbed some more occasionally stopping to pant.  The steep ascent took me past the pleasant house Galileo lived in.  It's not open to the public, but there's a Galileo Museum in the historic center for those who are interested.

I climbed past the Giadarno Bardini and turned and climbed up to the Fortress Belvedre---closed or I would have stopped and visited and then down a long, narrow road past an olive grove.  Birds tweeted.  Insects hummed.  I admired the olive trees with their short twisted trunks and silvery green leaves.  Florence is surrounded by rolling hills. After a long steep descent I turned uphill again into a sort of village-like environment and back to more steep climbing.

The purpose of all that?  I was out of breath and my legs began to ache, but the weather was good, and I needed to leave the historic center for a while and those narrow streets walled with stone, the cigarette smoke, all those tour groups, and just the crowds in general.  Few people shared my route.  Here and there I caught glimpses of trees blossoming in pink and white and green grass and leafy bushes.  Mere words cannot convey the beauty of the Tuscan countryside in spring.  My photo doesn't either.  A long, long fight of shallow steps led up to the Piazza de Michelangelo where another copy of David presides over a magnificent view of the city.  I paused to take pictures.

Now, this piazza is a noted tourist spot.  A lot of tour buses come here, and so do city buses.  Gelato and souvenir stands serve those in need.

But I was not done with the climbing.  From the banks of the Arno one can see one of the oldest churches in Florence—San Miniato del Monte.  I strolled up hill and climbed more stairs until I reached it.  It’s a living church, so on this Sunday I could not enter.  As it was Palm Sunday, a lot of people were around (Note that I wrote the post on the day and am just publishing it later) passing out olive branches for the Tuscan version of the day.  Even down in the historic center may people carried them.

After enjoying the air and the view I hiked back again wondering what else I could do today.  I checked at the bus station. Nope. Very few lines running and not to anywhere I wanted to go.  I tried a museum I had not seen.  Nope. Closed.

To console myself I had gelato:  cinnamon, hazelnut-chocolate, and hazelnut.  Swoon!

After finding a euro pence in the gutter and taking it as a sign, I decided to go shopping.  I had a good idea of what I wanted for myself and for prezzies from previous episodes of window licking.  I went to the Santa Croce district because it’s known for its leather shops.  I came away with an elegant number in black leather.  I bought a few other things, but they are prezzies for folks who might be reading.  I snooted around stands and markets—regular readers know my weakness for markets.  The one I explored seriously catered for tourists—all right with me!  My quest proved successful.

But another item remained on my personal list, and I wondered if I could get it taken care of today leaving more time the rest of my trip for excursions.  I went back to the Ponte Vecchio to find that most of the jewelry stores were open.  I licked windows for a while and then entered one.  I emerged a short time later quite satisfied with my purchase of a pair of pretty gold earrings.  I opted for the nine caret hoops.  The gold glitters the same as fourteen or twenty-four caret.

Glad you had a nice day, Pil.  And the food?

One traditional dish--and very easy to make is Pasta e Fagioli. The Tuscans make this with white canellini beans or red speckled borlotti and short cut pasta.  I had penne.   One cooks beans with aromatics like garlic, onion, and celery or mixes them in if using canned beans.  Tomato is always welcome.  Some porky sausage--which I did not have--turns the dish into a special occasion.  Don't forget to finish with olive oil!

In other news. . . Mount Etna has erupted AGAIN.  Italy is the most volcanically active area in—well, you have to go to the Pacific Ring of Fire to find a area of comparable volcanic activity.
Ciao!

A Day of Great Sculpture

Buon Giorno

It happened twice today—that marvelous sense of smug gratification that comes when I show up at a museum, swank by the loooong line, flash my Amici degli Uffizi card, and the attendant opens the barrier just for me.  I'm sure the folks in the line are thinking, "Is she somebody?  How does she rate?"

Well, Amici, I may not be a Real Principessa, but I do research and plan ahead.

So I had plans today, which I had to change, but first I took out the trash and got more cash.  Then look myself off hoping to get into the Duomo.  That's Santa Maria della Fiore, the magnificent cathedral of Florence in the heart of the city.  Ah—no line!  Ok there was a reason there was no line.  The Duomo wouldn’t open for another hour.  Worse the museum with the Duomo’s art works wasn’t going to open until noon!  I took some pictures though, which you can see above.

So I walked down the street to the Academia, saw the line and groaned inwardly.  Then I recalled my card.  

Do not pretend you have seen David because you gawked at and photographed the indifferent copy in the Piazza delle Signoria.  Come and see the real thing at the Academia.  The difference becomes apparent immediately.  The original has a tense, brooding power, but although all he’s wearing is a sling and a frown, the statue also projects a certain purity.  Other statues and art works are on exhibit as well.  Don’t miss Giovanni da Bologna’s spiraling, dynamic Rape of the Sabine Women or Michelangelo’s unfinished figures.  The latter gives insight into his method.  He carved from one side, releasing the figure he knew lay within.  Fortunately he could see the figure within a huge chunk of marble that other sculptors deemed unworkable, and so we have David.

Then since I was more or less in the neighborhood I strolled over to San Lorenzo, the Medici family church.  San Lorenzo looks like nothing much from the outside, but the interior is a marvel of proportion and elegance as I saw on my previous visit when one could just walk in.  Now there’s a line and an entrance charge.  Apart from the church there’s the Laurentian Library designed by Michelangelo, but I knew my card would get me into the Medici Chapels, so I headed there.

Line?  Not for La Principessa Alma de Peregrina!

There are two Medici Chapels.  One is a soaring, marble inlayed mausoleum, all gilt and grandeur for Cosimo and Lorenzo.  The other is smaller as befitting minor Medici, but it’s adorned with figures by Michelangelo and decorated in a more sober classical style.

But even I get tired of the Renaissance.  On my way to the Archeological Museum, I got lost.  But lost in Florence isn’t bad at all because one can lick windows while one gets back on track.  I wanted Etruscans!  I got Greeks and Egyptians, too, but mostly I got the Chimera of Arezzo, which was on loan last time I visited.  You can google it.  Bronze never looked so ferocious—except I could never figure out what was so fearsome about a goat head.

On my way back, I swung by the Duomo.  The ADU card wasn’t going to help me with that line!  Think Anne Frank house.  So I went on the museum.  I suffered some disappointment there, as well.  I especially wanted to see Lo Zuccone, Dontatello’s stark portrayal of some Old Testament prophet or other.  It was being restored, but there was much else including the sculptor’s Mary Magdalene and his St. John.  At the top of the stairs in a room all its own is the Pieta that Michelangelo designed for his own tomb.  It is the most finished of all his late Pietas, and Nicodemus supporting the dead Christ bears Michelangelo’s own features.

Regular readers of my travels know about my fondness for Il aperitivo.  Even I am not cheeky enough to ask for Campari in Tuscany, but I do like to sit and have a drink and bite before going on to make and have dinner.  I pour myself some Vernaccia and make a crostini de fegatini. The crostini is a slice of toasted crusty bread. Fegatini is a coarse chicken liver paste.  I bought mine in a tub at the store, but at home you can take some livers and cook them with a little garlic and some chopped onion.  Add capers if you like.  Mush the results in a good processor with a splash of vin santo or sherry and spread on your crostini.

Ciao