The Beginning, The Beckoning, and The Boar.
You may recall, almost a year ago, I claimed boldly in a
hotel room in Rome that I would not be returning for another summer trip with
Global Journeys for awhile. It was not because I didn’t enjoy the job. In fact,
I not only love it...I am in love with it. It plays to my strengths and it
challenges me as I introduce young people to European art and culture. But, I
wrote that night in Rome, I was getting tired. I needed some time off from
travelling.
And here I am. In Italy. Again.
This is not my fault. This is the fault of two people. Deb
Pedersen, owner of Global Journeys, and Eric. Deb seduced me with Malta. I
haven’t been to Malta and she knew that I would find it very difficult to turn
down. She is a Travel Vixen. I didn’t stand a chance. And Eric...well...I said
to Eric that if I were to do another trip like this there could be no road trip
in August like years before. Anyone who
knows Eric know full well that he would never agree to such a thing. Then he agreed
to such a thing. Then, I thought, I
wanted a smaller class. Fourteen was too much for my tired self. No problem,
claimed Vixen Deb, teach the Classical Civilisations course. The numbers are
always smaller when you don’t teach English.
Fine, I thought, I will do it again.
Fifteen students later here I am teaching kids about the
ancient world.
Oh well...it’s still an awesome job and my original plan for
the summer of 2013 was a trip to Egypt. Yeesh.
Oh yeah, and Eric is working for Global Journeys this year.
He is the team leader for the trip to France. I think that this was his way of
letting go of the road trip this summer. Ha! When he comes back, the only road
trip he’ll be in the mood for is to end of the driveway to pick up the
recyclables container.
You may have also noted, or not, that I have not been
keeping up with the blog for the past few months. I had decided to try to push
the blog further throughout the year and had limited success. I have learned a
few lessons about myself and will try again in the fall. In the meantime, we
have returned to a travel blog once again.
Our first stop on this trip has been Florence.
I don’t exactly know when it happened, but I fell madly in
love with Florence during one of my visits. I love the fact that you can walk
in a mostly car-free environment throughout the old city centre and that
everywhere you look there is testament to the artistry of the old Italian
masters. This trip I have walked within the church and home of Dante, followed
the footsteps of Machiavelli, and gazed upon the works of Il Sodomi, Caravaggio, and da Vinci. I also love the
soft bustle of the people as they move about the streets. It’s busy, to be
sure, but it seems more...intimate...than the hustle of Rome. Tonight, as I
write this I can hear the people walking by as music wanders around the cobbled
streets, being carried around stone walls and old engravings of the Virgin Mary
with the soft evening wind. The city is not revelling, like you expect New York
or London to do. But it’s still awake and alive after Sunday midnight gives way
to early Monday morning. I hear voices, but they laugh and speak to each other
with intent. They do not yell or scream or simply make noise because it is
possible.
Tonight, as a I said goodbye to this fair city, I walked
down a main thoroughfare and shared it with literally thousands of people. But
the noise was muted. It reminded me of the evening walks that we witnessed in
Gander, Newfoundland a few years ago. It was like the entire town had just
finished dinner and had all decided to go for a walk to ease digestion. It was
like that....only in hundreds.
Our hotel , the Hotel de Lanzie, is one block away from the
Duomo and we can hear the bells chime. There are a lot of bells and they chime
on the hour, the half hour and whenever the hell someone feels like ringing the
bells. And it’s not just the Duomo. Today, Sunday, the pealing of the bells
filled the late morning air for a great long time. It seemed to last forever.
And then it did it again. Never has a disruption in my class been so openly
welcomed. The window in the room I taught this week looked out onto a street
that ran perpendicular to ours and ended at the front door of the hotel. Down
this street, between the narrow stone buildings you can see the southern facade
of the Duomo rise up towards the sky. This is my view as I try to inspire my
kids about the birth place of the Remaissance.
And I get paid to do this.
We took the kids to the Uffizi and I did my best to give
them a meaningful tour. I spoke of Boticelli, and Vasari, and Rembrandt. I
introduced them to St. Sebastian, Laocoon, and Cosimo de Medici. I told them
the stories of Eros and Psyche, Marsyas and Apollo, and Salome and St. John the
Baptist. We took pictures of the Pont dell Vecchio and the Arno from the south
facade and marveled at the Medici secret passageway that connects the Uffizi to
Pitti Palace. Every time I go to the Uffizi I discover new things. This time I
appreciated the room with the sculptures of Niobe and her children. Having
boasted that her children were better than even the twins Apollo and Artemis,
Niobe was forced to watch all of her children die at the hands of these two
gods. The statues are spread around the room, each one of them writhing in
desperate pain as their mother watches from one side, clinging to her youngest
in desperation.
But it is not all about the art.
Across the tiny street there is Grom, a very popular and
well regarded gelateria. This is not the gelato that is brightly coloured and
piled up high in the cooler so that those walking by cannot help but notice.
This is the real thing. The soft, creamy gelato that must be protected from the
light so it is kept in metal drums with covers. This gelato is not scooped, it
is moulded onto the cone or into the cup.
And they had Liquorizia. My favourite flavour that is so
very difficult to find. Can this be anything else but a sign?
So I am filled to the rim with this gelato on this last
night before leaving Florence.
We also showed the kids the markets, packed solidly with leather
and scarves and trinkets that glitter and glow. We taught the kids the
beginner’s approach to haggling, and made them rub the nose of the statue of
the boar. While the copper of the statue has been green for generations, the nose is still bright from
the rubbing of thousands of visitors who believe that doing this will guarantee
a return to Florence. We all dutifully committed ourselves to coming back and
building on this experience.
Tonight I walked the main thoroughfare before I had to go to
my hotel for bed check and said my good bye to the Uffizie and Piazza dell
Vecchio. I had realised a few days ago that I really didn’t know when I would
come back. In trips before I could
estimate at least a general time period of my next visit to Florence. But not
this time.
I definitely won’t be going with Global Journeys next year.
(Really. We have plans with our godchildren and their parents.) And once I am
in administration...whenever that happens...my ability to commit becomes a bit
more complicated. Eric isn’t called to Italy like I am so he wants to see other
things in the world...and so do I, really.I don’t know when I will return to this beautiful, wonderful, artistic city that calls to be from the beginnings of the Renaissance. And this makes me very sad as I head of to bed.
I don’t know when I will be back. But I will be back.
Someday. After all, I rubbed the nose of
the boar.
