Here and There – Italy
It is easy to believe that Italy was a country designed for tourists. Not all of Italy, perhaps. There are places like Milan and Turin that are more like many large modern European cities: places with history and a lot more. Let’s leave them on one side and concentrate on the Italy that thrives on (and probably hates) tourists. This is the Italy of Venice, Bologna, Pisa, Florence, Rome, and even, if you like to live dangerously, Naples. These are cities packed full of art, architecture, sculpture, churches and mansions, all of which appear to have been put there for the benefit of school history courses, adult holidays and family sight-seeing. And they are truly old, full of old stuff and surrounded by old stories. It must seem odd to the locals to find visitors from Australia gushing on about Italy’s history, when they come from a country with 50,000 or more years of its own extraordinary past.
I first went to Italy when I was a teenager, on a school trip which included Venice (and Milan!). There they were, guys on gondolas that look just like the ones in Canaletto’s paintings. Living history. They took people around town on their gondolas, just like they did in the 16th Century. I was living in England at that time, and it is full of old stuff, too, but somehow Italian old is just that bit more … bit more really old, I felt. England’s old stuff is largely uninhabited, and most of the country is street after street of semi-detached houses. In Italy, it’s full of palaces, and as far as I could see, people still lived in them, didn’t they?
As is often the case on school trips, we were taken to see things, items regarded as key objects from history. We knew about Italian soccer teams, sleek and powerful Italian cars, and some of the older students told us about incredibly sexy Italian women. School trips don’t usually address these components of Italian culture, however, but focus on museums, art, cathedrals, palaces, and bridges (yup, bridges). We stopped at a camp site outside Venice, the Lido de Gesolo. That night one of the teachers opened a pressure cooker too early and scalded his foot. He spent the rest of the trip in pain, and so we had to do more! Guess what I had to do while we spent the day in Venice? Buy 36 chops (lamb chops, as I recall). I spent most of the day wandering the back streets of Venice, and eventually found a butcher, and bought … well, I bought sausages!! I was put off Venice for many years after.
Shopping over and getting back to the camp site, my group did the cooking and cleaning up. Tired, but we decided to go back to a bar we’d seen on the beach for a drink: it might have been the pretty girl serving drinks, who knows, but that night I consumed 11 vodkas and 1 brandy. How do I know this? One of the other students on the trip duly recorded this event in his diary, for 16 August 1960. Thanks, Neil! His notes do not include how bad I was, just that I was “drunk as a lord”. I must have emerged the next day in a reasonable state because the next day was a free day at the beach, and that same diary noted I went back to the bar that night, although there’s no record of the details of my alcoholic intake the second time around!
My last clear memory is from the camp site in Milan. We arrived there in the afternoon and set up our tents on some sloping ground. As the evening wore on, it started to rain. I knew not to touch the flysheet, as this would let water in. However, my camping companion decided to make sure the waterproof groundsheet was all neat and tidy. He patted it carefully, and as he did so, the water that had been flowing underneath now flowed over the groundsheet! We hopped out of the tent and took our possessions into the coach to sleep there. I think we might have made a wise move, as everyone appeared early the next morning both wet and miserable. Such are the childhood memories of Italy!
The first time I went to Italy as an adult, I was a young parent. We went to Rome, and guess what – we saw the Coliseum, the Appian Way, as well as popping into the Vatican and wandered around St Peter’s. I suppose I thought it would be educational (for children aged 9, 8 and six years respectively). They must have been bored. Was I getting my own back on that school trip and its demands on teenage me?
Several visits later, my Italian travels have scarcely covered half of the sights set out in the guidebooks. Do you know how many ‘important’ churches there are in Florence? Are you aware of the massive collection of (largely ruined) buildings in Rome that the Romans built? Back then, I thought the best souvenir to acquire, alongside the rolls of film I shot, was a book of photographs surveying whichever city we visited (which I would study on return to Australia, worried that we might have missed one of the more important sights). I still remember being saved in Florence by buying a children’s guide to the city and going to every place listed! No, that wasn’t so much saving me as much as making the task manageable.
It all changed in the middle of the 1990s. My wife and I and our young daughter went to Florence for two weeks, booked an apartment, and simply absorbed where we were. Our daughter was young, and we did take her to St Peter’s, to the Uffizi, the Bargello, and some other places. But, basically, we simply lived in Florence. We learnt to drink coffee like the locals – small, strong espressos, drunk standing up. We wandered streets purposelessly (I did always take a map with me so that we could find our way back to the apartment). We ate out in little, unpretentious places sometimes, and in our apartment often, using food bought in one of the two markets. We were still tourists, but more like flâneurs, not compulsive collectors, but leisurely strolling through town.
Florence has many attractions beyond famous sights, churches and galleries. The area inside what were the original walls of the city is small, small enough to find your way around and remember. That core to the city does have a spectacular history, especially from the 15th Century. At that time it was one of the largest cities in Europe, with a population of 60,000 This was the time of the Medici. I have to say a little about the Medici. First up was Cosimo de’ Medici, who controlled the city from behind the scenes. It was a kind of democracy, but Cosimo’s power came from patronage, and a shrewd set of links with immigrants, the gente nuova (new people). Oh, they were also bankers to the Pope, and that helped, too. Cosimo was succeeded by his son, and soon after by his grandson, Lorenzo the Magnificent, a great patron of the arts, commissioning works by Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and Botticelli.
However, at the end of the 15th Century the Medicis were pushed put and Florence reverted to a republican government. Girolamo Savonarola took up the cudgels in favour of democracy. He pushed through reforms to establish a more egalitarian rule, but when he accused the Pope of corruption, he was banned from speaking, and was convicted as a heretic, hanged and burned at the stake in 1498. Be careful of what you say! Another famous Florentine of the time was Niccolò Machiavelli, who had been forced to retreat to the country when the Medicis lost power. However, he had a nice villa to hide in as his retreat. This was the time when he started writing political tracts, most notably The Prince.
The Medici retook control of Florence in 1512, and two cousins, Giovanni and Giulio de’ Medici led the restored family, both of whom would later become Popes. They followed in the Medici tradition of being generous patrons of the arts. Rivalry and power games continued, and the Florentines drove out the Medici for a second time and re-established a theocratic republic in 1527, but the Medici were back again in 1530. It was just like current party politics! Florence became a monarchy in 1531, a centre of trade, finance and wealth, the birthplace of the Renaissance, and a pre-eminent centre for major artistic, cultural, commercial, political, economic and financial activities. Those were the good times.
Now, this is intended to be all about me, so let’s abandon the exploits of the Medici family, and return to my time in Florence. That visit with my wife and daughter saw us staying in the centre of town, on the top floor of a house, with a large room, small kitchen and minute bathroom, and a bedroom apparently suspended above the main area in part of what must have been the attic. Naturally enough, I decided we were frightfully cosmopolitan, clambering up to bed, and then looking down at the living area below! I guess it could have been hot, but it wasn’t. We were there in the late Spring: it was lovely out, and pleasantly warm inside our retreat, located on a side road just off the Via Ghibelline. What a privilege to be in the centre of Florence, staying in our ‘own place’ rather than a hotel.
I don’t want to suggest that hotels in Florence aren’t good. Far from it. On another visit, we stayed in the Hotel Villa Betania, across the Arno, and past the wonderful Boboli Gardens. That was an oasis of old style elegance. Yet another visit was to a hotel much closer to the Basilica Santa Maria Novella. I would have liked to have said we stayed at the Hotel Machiavelli Palace, but we didn’t! Maybe at the Hotel Eden? Machiavelli, Eden, all these notable names, but our studio apartment was the best. The only similar experience I can remember is when we stayed in a one-bedroom apartment in Paris, on the third floor of a building on the Rue de Thorigny, and just across the road from the Picasso Museum.
Living in an apartment – ah, that’s the clue, we were living in an apartment in Florence, rather than staying in a hotel. In an apartment you can, for a couple of weeks, imagine this is your new home. You shop for food, prepare meals and picnics, and understand such important matters as how to dispose of different kinds of waste, where to buy postage stamps, and which places have English newspapers that aren’t already out of date. Is there a laundrette nearby? Do they sell sachets of washing power? Milk isn’t delivered? No Vegemite!
Of course, in Florence, or Paris for that matter, the illusion of living there is transitory, at best. Just as you are reaching the point of a familiar nod at a neighbour, times up. These are major tourist cities. The locals have seen people like us come and go, and just hope we won’t be noisy or inconsiderate. Tolerated (“not as bad as the last lot”), observed (“did you see that funny cap he wears”), and even worthy of an occasional smile (having an attractive young daughter helped enormously). By the end of the first week, you begin to relax. As the next week begins, you become unsettled again: “Should we go back to the Uffizi? What was that church we were told to visit – was it the Basilica di Santa Trinita? Oh, no, we were there last Tuesday. It was the Chiesa di San Salvatore in Ognissanti, and who was it said it was important to see?” Slowly, as the time shrinks, you’re sliding back into tourist mode.
Then there are souvenirs. Photographs are easy, too easy, in a sense. A good book is something worth having as a reminder. However, it is often little things which turn out to be the most successful. We bought a front door knocker in Florence, a bronze circle around a Versace style face, with a ring around the face to knock for attention. It was lovely. An indulgence, yet we brought it back to Australia, and now it sits on the front door of a house we sold years ago (or maybe the new owners took it off and threw it away). Stuff can disappear, with the result the most important reminders are odd moments lodged in memory: my daughter being offered small, deep-fried dough balls by the man in the coffee shop, free, because he liked her smile; a 2,000-calorie croissant from the local patisserie (OK, not 2,000 calories, but at least 500!); the walk up the hill to the Hotel Villa Betania.
Of the many memories I have of Italy, one is surprisingly strong. I travelled alone down to Ostia Antica, the ruins of an ancient city which had been the port for Rome from somewhere around the Seventh Century BC through to about 400 AD. It’s located near the modern city of Ostia. It is now about 2 miles from the sea (the result of natural movements in sand bars). It is a famous archaeological site, distinguished by a large collection of remains still to be seen there, including old buildings, frescoes, mosaics and sculptures. It might have been Rome’s first major harbour. It could have been a naval base, as far back as 300 BC.
I didn’t know any of this when I parked near the entrance. A paragraph in a guidebook said it was an interesting place to visit. There was almost no information for visitors as you entered what appeared to be a vast park area. As you walked along, you began to distinguish parts of the old city. None of that prepared me for the ancient Roman theatre, looking down and across to a Forum. Ruined, in a dilapidated state, it was still majestic.
Two other unexpected sights also stick in my mind and colour my memories of Italy. One day, I decided to drive to Pisa, and then, having admired a leaning tower, I went on to the coast. South of Pisa, I saw a Second World War Cemetery, the Beach Head War Cemetery. I don’t spend my time visiting cemeteries, but I needed a break, and wandered in. Hard to explain, it was both calming and thought provoking Beautifully tended, with rows and rows of memorial stones. There was also a book where you could see if the cemetery included anyone you knew. On a busy road, it was surprisingly quiet. I hate wars, but as a way of remembering those who died in a conflict, it offered quiet testimony to lives senselessly lost.
On another occasion, I wandered away from Rome, a city I’ll write about on another occasion. As I drove west, I saw signs for the ‘Riserva Naturale Regionale Tor Caldara’. There was a basic walking map, and no other explanation. Off I went, and, just as was the case at Ostia Antica, I appeared to be the only person there. This visit was less successful: I was following a path, and saw a small, brightly coloured patch of water and a tiny waterfall. It would make a rather nice photograph. To get the ideal shot, I stepped on to a sandy shoal near the path. It wasn’t sand. It was sulphur, and I was sinking (not deeply) into a bubbling sulphur vent. I dragged myself out, to discover my recently purchased black Asics were now white and stank. I still have them, but it took ten years of washing and wearing to get rid of the pungent smell. Silly boy. That was a memory of Italy I couldn’t forget for a long time!
Like so many other major cities, Florence is two places. It packed full of astonishing buildings, artworks, sculptures and piazzas. You can quickly begin to appreciate what the city was like three of four hundred years earlier. Indeed, we were lucky enough to be there when there was a procession through the centre, and dozens of Florentines dressed up in the traditional outfits from the 16th Century. What a treat. At the same time, it is a modern city, almost overwhelmed by tourists through much of the year, but with enough quiet streets and gardens to allow you the luxury of imagining yourself a resident. Then the famous places and sights become part of a complex background, against which you go shopping for something for dinner, or just pop out for a coffee. That was how I saw London when I was young. Imagine living entirely in the city area contained within the walls, full of amazing stuff: that was what we experienced when we were ‘living’ in Florence.
