The slide show gives a glimpse of my first wander before returning to my current home to take a nap. Very grateful.
Easy flights and speedy train from Rome to Florence. I arrived at Santa Maria Novella train station at 12:22, called Lorenzo, the wonderful man from whom I rent the apartment, and met him a my new place across the Arno (Oltrarno) near the Ponte Vecchio. Twenty minutes later, wifi was going strong, and I was walking the streets and enjoying pizza at Piazza Signoria. The slide show gives a glimpse of my first wander before returning to my current home to take a nap. Very grateful.
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Thoughts about coffee on way home from Florence, via Frankfurt, to Boston. Note to Self: Upon entering the Florence airport, do not ever again pay 2 euro for a cappuccino, even if you are in desperate need of caffeine. Instead, take the escalator up one floor, check in, go through security (both of which are a snap in Florence), walk through the Duty Free area to the waiting lounge. and pay 1.20 euro. Speaking of the cost of coffee, prices have risen since I was in Florence three months ago. There are fewer and fewer place to get a cappuccino for 1.20. In fact, 1.30 is becoming a good deal. Those places with fancy, contemporary facelifts have the jumped their prices to 1.50. So, step away from the main tourist streets and fight inflation. Why do I bring this up? I can afford the increase, but I like to live frugally when I can. I usually don’t do the math, but I do with coffee. An increase of .60 euro for two cups a day comes to 4.20 euro for the week. That’s an added $4.75 for coffee. As far as buying coffee in the States, I make it at home. if I buy one large cup a day at the Dunkin’ Donuts a day, I’m heading toward spending $1000 a year. Hey, that’s an airline ticket to Florence. Please don’t suggest that when I’m in Italy I brew my coffee before I set out to walk the streets. It’s not the same, and besides, I’m on vacation. My observation is that Asians make up the largest group of tourists in Italy these days. It’s a good thing for the economy; they are the ones carrying huge bags out of the high-end designer stores on Via Tournabuoni. I’m talking about pocket books costing $2000 and dresses at $4000. There aren’t enough of us American to keep those shops open. I understand this—well kind of. In museums and churches I notice Asians glancing at noteworthy pieces of art while intensely reading their guidebooks. For me, on the other hand, the history of western art, and especially the Biblical stories depicted in paintings, are deeply embedded in my mind and spirit. When I visit museums and churches I have an enormous back-history to draw upon, both consciously and unconsciously. It at these times that I am reminded of my superficial viewing of Asian art at the Shanghai Museum in 2003, and I am humbled. Two days into the purging and I’m still at it. If I can do a little each day, it will get done—whatever that means. Today I spent no more than ten minutes getting rid of cookbooks. There is more room on the shelf, and I am free from household obligations for the rest of the day. I kept enough books to lift something different out of the oven and onto the table every day, even if I live to be my mother's age of one hundred one. But that’s not going to happen—the cooking part, anyway. The those Italian meals are still salivating in my mouth, so here at home I may stick to alternating between hamburgers and salmon. Tonight it’s hamburgers minus the wine. On Saturday I took a twelve hour bus tour to the Cinque Terra—the five towns along the coast northwest of Florence, now declared a World Heritage site by UNESCO . A two hour bus ride, lots of walking, several trains and a magnificent boat ride to travel from town to town. The views were spectacular on what was considered the last day of the season. Last tour from Florence, last day the boat taxi would run from town to town, and perhaps the last day of sun before the rainy months. Joining a tour offers more sociability than the solitary tours I create for myself. It can be pleasant to share travel stories with others, but for me, only in small doses. I understand this is a way for people to process their travels, but I don’t want or need to do much of that any more. My journal and this blog provide my means of sorting out what is important to me. As my photos attest, the spectacular scenery in the same category of the universally agreed upon beauty of fall foliage. I tried to spend most of my time, especially on the boat, breathing it in, feeling the moment, and not thinking—that continual challenge of mine to stay in the moment. I have a long way to go, but at least I sometimes remember NOT to think. This was one of those days. The other special experience was walking around the cemetery up the hill from the Monastery and Church of the Capuchin Friars. This was what I call a ‘living cemetery’, which means it is cared for and visited. A women was tending to each grave with fresh flowers. A man who had grown up in the area had come from Genoa to visit the grave of his grandfather. “I know so many people here now,” he told me. Sono arrivata. I’ve been in Florence twenty-four hours. It took me a while to settle in but last night’s delicious meal of mixed crostini, chicken with truffle sauce and roasted rosemary potatoes, a twelve hour sleep, two cappuccino this morning, and my favorite mixed vegetables at Ciro and Sons Ristorante at noon has helped ground me. It took a while this time to settle into why I was here for the umpteenth solitary visit. In the recent past I was writing the book about Mom, but with “Very Grateful” published, I found myself wanting a project, and yet not finding one. Then this morning on my wander about the city, I started taking pictures. “Oh no,” you say, “More of the same?” “Oh yes,” I say, “More but always different, for this is a new moment, a new view of this miraculous city.” I realize that these blog posts have become part of my purpose: to inspire, affirm, and encourage people who long for solitude, silence and simplicity and who sometimes like to be alone. But why this longing? What do we long for? We long for meaning and purpose in our lives. Elizabeth Gilbert, in her new book “Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear,” frames this meaning as a creative desire that every human being has. If we don’t tap into it we open ourselves to depression and no reason to live. I may be over-simplifying this, but I know I’m onto something. While I’m here in Florence for the next twelve days I plan to blog, primarily with pictures, about creativity I see happening around Florence. Not only through artifacts of long ago, but the through the work of contemporary artists out there on the streets: painters, sculptors, multi-media artists, textile artists, architects, photographers, culinary artists, writers, horticulturalists, athletes. There are also artists who create through the spoken word: ministers, professors, teachers. And what about animal lovers, or those doing all they can to save this beautiful earth. Clearly they are creative artists as well. My startup list expands as I write. I venture to say that the common denominator is that they all have something to share. Maybe you are one of these artists, maybe you express your creativity another way. We all have something we do (or want to do) that makes our life purposeful? Silence, solitude and simplicity will be mine when I step onto the bus to the airport on Wednesday and begin my travel to Italy. Oh, getting there won’t really be silent, solitary or simple, but I’ll be on my own in my own little world. That’s what I long for every so often, a sabbatical from my life in community. We usually think of sabbatical as something for ministers or college professors. But why not for everyone? Everyone who wants one, and that probably includes everyone. Therefore, I put this idea out there for everyone. Claim a sabbatical to a favorite space for a substantial amount of time. Maybe it is to a spot in the woods or the park, or far away from home, or somewhere in between. Maybe it’s for an hour or an afternoon, or for two weeks, which is the time I’m taking. Happy sabbatical. Two of our grandchildren are here for a grandcation (visit without parents). Because they are teenagers (need I say more), I have silence, solitude and simplicity in the morning. They are about to get up. After I cook them breakfast, I will telephone the airline to change my frequent flyer reservation for Italy from November to October. I just learned that, without consulting me, Pope Francis has planned a four day visit to Florence right in the middle of my visit. www.florencedailynews.com reports: “Pope Francis will visit the city of Florence on November 12, 2015. The official announcement has not yet been issued, but preparations are already underway. In those days Florence will be the venue of the Italian Church Forum, organized by CEI, the Italian Bishops’ Conference, hosted by the Archdiocese (Fortezza da Basso, 9 to 13 November 2015). "The Pope plans “to spend in Florence the entire day of Wednesday, November 12, 2015. His participation to the conference will be only a part of the visit in the city. “According to early rumors, Pope Francis will visit some Florentine institutions that deal with charity and the poor. For the Mass, planned at the Artemio Franchi stadium, is already estimated that participate in more than 50 thousand faithful. This event will be remembered for the arrival of Pope John Paul II in Florence in 1986, when tens of thousands of people gathered around the Pope at the stadium.” I offer this detail of the Pope’s visit as I prepare to explain why I want to change my ticket. Where will all those folks coming to see the Pope sleep? Where they will eat? Where will I sleep? Where will I eat? P.S. I did it! Italy in October, avoiding the Pope, the crowds, and the rainy season in Florence. One of my favorite day trips from Florence is to Fiesole. Hop on Bus #7 at Piazza San Marco and twenty-five minutes later there you are at the top of the hill overlooking Firenze. The Duomo looms large. There is much to see in Fiesole but I usually pass by the Roman forum, the local museums and cathedral, and climb the hill to the Chiesa di San Francesco. I can never resist talking pictures, and of course, blogging about it again. On this early spring day, all was silent. I was in solitude, and yet the few visitors who came along offered a comforting sense of community to this miniature monastic complex. After all, those of us who had ventured to this out-of-the-way place must be kindred spirits in some way! Every time I climb the stairs to gaze into the fourteenth century monks cells, I picture myself living in one of them. My AR (angel room) at home is not much bigger, but the comparison stops there. These cells are sparse—board for a bed, a desk and chair, Bible and cross. I won’t even begin to describe the AR! I will say, however, that these cells encourage me to simplify, to get rid of things, mainly books that are from another stage of life, books that I will never read again. A month ago, on the morning of my last day in Florence, I took an early morning walk (7 miles) to the city’s principal churches. The day was chilly and windy but not overbearing. Signs of spring were beginning to appear. Maybe you can see some of them in the following slideshow. • Santa Maria del Fiore • San Lorenzo • Santa Maria Novella • Ognissanti • Basilica del Carmine • Santo Spirito • Santa Felicita • Santa Croce • Santissima Annunziata • San Marco • Santa Maria del Fiore This Thursday I am flying to Rome and taking the train back to Florence. Then on the 18th I’ll meet my son, daughter-in-law and two grandchildren back in Rome: we’ll spend two nights there, four in Florence, and one more in Rome before flying home together.
My first week in Florence will be one of solitude. Before I meet the family for this whirl of a vacation together, I will circumnavigate the city and again take pictures of the churches. I trust that signs of spring will be more evident. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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