​11/27/21 I don’t write in this section often. Due to Covid, my posts of 2020 and spring 2021 were longings, reminiscent of prior trips. Also, usually I post about my trips to Italy on ‘On my mind.’ That usually feels okay, but today I want to share a few thoughts with any (the few) of you who venture into this inner room of acottagebythesea. 
       I am returning to Florence a week from today, December 5. I couldn’t resist being there for the lighting of the Christmas tree on December 8, the feast of the Immaculate Conception. It will be my fourth December in Florence (well, not counting 1959). But what excites me most, is the eleven days I will be wandering about the city my myself. I have a lunch date with a friend, but other than that, I will be alone, a solitary traveler. I will love every day—cappuccino at my favorite bars, delicious food at restaurants all over the city, uncrowded museums and churches, historic streets and piazzas, and a cozy apartment, adjacent to the Uffizi and Ponte Vecchio. 
       This is for those of you, my solitary traveler friends. Except for my family, I haven’t told anyone about this trip. I will, but for now I’m just sharing the secret with you.

​I am still a solitary traveler and I am still traveling, although only in my imagination. These past few days I found myself talking Bus 7 from Piazza San Marco to Fiesole, overlooking Florence. Visiting Fiesole has always satisfied my longing for solitude because of my final destination, the Monastery of San Francesco, a steep climb from the bus stop in the town square. I’ve probably made the trip at least fifteen times; I can close my eyes and be there, right now. 
    The monastery includes the little church and its adjoining cloisters, and a separate entrance to the monk’s quarters and the stairway to their cells. I imagine I am there, not visiting, but living in my cell, looking out my window, wandering in the cloisters, praying in the church. The time in history has no importance, nor does it matter if I am a nun or a monk.  
   Sorry for just a few pictures. I know they are somewhere in my iPhotos but I can’t find them and I want to post this. 

 My solitary travel days are most likely over, at least those to Italy. Probably not a good idea to fly across the Atlantic by myself for two weeks. By any reasonable time-line that Covid has in mind, I can’t envision that kind of travel possibile for two or three more years, but what do I know? What does anybody know? All I know is that that would put me close to my 85thbirthday.  
     Of course, we never want a good thing to come to its end, but endings do come and when we’re lucky, as I am, we can be grateful and not feel one bit sorry for ourselves. 
     In my pre-pandemic life I would have just returned from Italy, full of memories of wandering the streets, stopping for a cappuccino, visiting churches and museums, and enjoying an evening meal of home-made pasta. But I can close my eyes and I am there, mind, body, and spirit.
    Silence, solitude, and simplicity is with me today in my own home as I wander the streets of Florence.  

​I would be in Florence at this very moment if I had control of the universe, but, need I say, I’m not—not in Florence nor in control! But I can still be a solitary traveler.
     Three weeks ago my decision to cancel my trip was a no-brainer; a smart choice on my part. That travel choice is now gone, and my self-imposed quarantine has taken its place. The reality of being a solitary traveler in Florence doesn’t exist, but I can be there from home, which I will do for the few weeks. After all, I have a library full of guidebooks, hundreds of photos, and a visceral memory of it all.
   Enjoy this solitary photo journey as I visit my favorite museums and churches and walk the streets.

​Visit One: The Convent of San Marco
     Usually one of my first stops in Florence is the Convent/Museum of San Marco, and so that is where I will go today.

​     I am early enough to be the first person to walk up the staircase to gaze at  Fra Angelico’s Annunciation.

​There will be a time when my solitary travel to Italy is over. I’ve said that out loud often, but I’ve always thought it would be due to my health, or Jim’s. I never imagined that a pandemic such as the coronavirus would keep me home. But it is doing just that. However, although I’ve cancelled my 3/6-20 trip to Rome and Florence, it doesn’t mean my solitary travel is over. I’m hoping there will be an all-clear travel alert by September.
    The decision to cancel was a no-brainer. I have no regrets nor do I feel sorry for myself. But I do feel the void. Yes, it has to do with Italy, but also with that feeling of deep satisfaction that comes with traveling alone.
     Yesterday, however, I proved that solitary travel can be immediate, and only be for day, or even part of one. I hopped in the car and made the 35 minute drive to the Museum of Russian Icons. I thought of calling a friend, but chose to go on my own—so glad I did. During my hour and a half visit, I had the place  almost entirely to myself. I was reminded of those early mornings alone in the Duomo in Florence before the first mass began.  
      I’m considering going to Maine for a few night. Or, perhaps I will be stay home and be a solitary traveler without traveling. Maybe it is only the solitude that is essential.

​  It would take a very special companion to join me for a week praying for peace in Rome, or anywhere for that matter. It could happen, but being alone makes it all the more possible.
      Praying for peace is what I did in Rome before going to Florence for the second week of my September solitary vacation. My original plan was to pray for peace and light a candle in as many of the Rome’s 900 churches as I could enter. Then I thought 100 would be a sensible number until I realized that 100 would catapult me into a frenzy, checking them off at the expense of being prayerful or even forgetting to pray before moving on to the next. It also became apparent that lighting a candle wasn’t always what I wanted to do with my budgeted coins. I don’t like paying to light an electronic ‘candle’, and sometimes I’d rather give to a homeless person who was virtually living on the church steps. 
      But before I go on, let me offer a few comments about this praying for peace idea. I am a Christian, a liberal one, who believes that God loves everyone and wants peace for everyone, and that Jesus’ teaches us to feed the hungry and welcome the stranger. I believe in prayer and it’s power, not only because I helps me but because it instills love and positive energy into the world. (Don’t ask me for proof or intellectual analysis, and I won’t ask you if the world needs peace.)
      My action plan was simple: enter a church that I came upon during my walks, sit in the pew, and lift up love. No judgments, no conditions. Just pray for peace. Sometimes I would say the Lord’s Prayer, or light a candle. What were the results? Personally, I was more peaceful. I felt more loving and less annoyed or judgmental about situations that I encountered on my travels. On universal level, each time I left a church I felt more hopeful about the possibility of peace than when I had entered. If I don’t feel and act peaceful, if I don’t do my part, how can I have hope that anyone else will? Hmm, what if everyone in the world prayed for peace? We reap what we sow, individually and collectively.
      Because of this prayer plan, I entered churches I might never have chosen to step foot in. But I am also a tourist, who enjoys art, architecture, and history. Every church I entered had an early church history and over the years each had been restored. In the late 16th century (after the Council of Trent, 1545-1563) and into the 17th century, when the Roman Papacy became powerful, the Baroque style captured most of the churches in Rome (Santa Maria sopra Minerva and the Pantheon being exceptions), with its curves, circles, sculpture. Interesting to note that this extremely embellished art form was in response to the Protestant Reformation, which among other things, protested the church’s sale of indulgences and other forms of materialism.
    It could be said that if you’ve seen one baroque church in Rome, you’ve seen them all. Not true. Look and see. 

​     And then there is St. Peter’s. I knew there would be hours of waiting in line and going through security to get into the basilica , so I left my visit to this church of all churches to my last morning in Rome. My week-long bus pass was still active and my train to Florence wasn’t until 9:35, so at 6:30 I hopped on Bus 64 to the square, only to greeted by crowds of people waiting to get into the square which was blocked off. The were waiting for Pope Francis’ Wednesday’s weekly outdoor audience.
   I recalled a time ten or so years ago when I arrived at 10 and followed the crowd, found a seat and was one of the ‘thousands gathered at St. Peter’s Square’ when Pope Benedict said Mass, and was then driven around in this pope-mobile to bless us. This time I said a prayer and went on my way to Rome Termini.

    ​I just posted this on “On My Mind” but decided to post it here also in case some of you only check in to “A Solitary Traveler’.  Seth Kugel has inspired me to try new adventures and to keep traveling.
 
    The other evening at the library I heard a delightful talk by Seth Kugel, the New York Times’s “Frugal Traveler” from 2010 to 2016 , and author of the recently published Rediscovering Travel: A Guide for the Globally Curious.
    Seth writes as he talks, telling engaging stories, offering useful tips, and blurting out the array of valuable insights that whirl around in his hyperactive mind. Whatever our age, and however and wherever we travel, he suggests that we go off the well-beaten track and try something new.
      Like me, Seth usually travels solo. Although I am a somewhat adventuress traveler, which of course one has to be when traveling alone, I’m inspired anew to wander off the tourist’s physical and psychological trampled-down path and rediscover the new and curious of Edinburgh (June 12-20). I’m ready and very grateful to be going. 

​     One of my companions when I am alone in Florence is Il Porcellino. He listens to whatever I tell him and never talks back. The perfect companion.  
   Nickname Il Porcellino by the Florentines, he guards the Mercato Vecchio, the old market right in the center of Florence. Visitors drop a coin in a slot at his feet and pat his snout for good luck and assurance that they will return to Florence. It’s not a habit that I’ve participated in; I seem to have returned to this city without his help. This doesn’t mean I don’t love Il Porcellino; it’s just not a superstition in which I chosen to participate. 

     ​I’ve seen people taking turns having their picture taken with him. 

​    I’ve seen a guard push coins down the slot after calling out a gypsy to stop stealing them.

      I’ve enjoyed a solitude moment with him.