Stretched out along the north side of Milan’s Duomo, Christmas Market stalls are selling meats, cheeses, breads, pretzels, truffles, dried fruit, candies, chocolate… Also every variety of gift item, including little trinkets, clothing, ornaments, jewelry, etc.
Approaching the Christmas Market stalls.
Dried and candied fruits of all sorts.
Chestnuts roasting on a closed fire.
Meats and cheeses from Norcia.
All sorts of nougat!
Olives, pickled artichoke hearts and veggies from Puglia.
8:15 P.M. and someone out there is playing the violin. There are also sounds of dogs, kids and dinner dishes. Occasionally a baby’s cry and people sneezing. This inner courtyard is a neighborhood unto itself, and very typically Milanese.
As you walk around Milan, the sidewalks are all faced with storefronts and “portoni”, great big gates sized for car entry, with small person-sized doors included. Behind those gates, one finds a courtyard, a garden, a mini-paradise sometimes. Bikes have their spots. There’s a patch of grass, or more. Some trees. Parking stalls for those that venture having cars. But none of this would you know from out on the sidewalk.
I’ve never been in an apartment with such a grand, expansive inner “courtyard”. That word seems hardly descriptive enough of the number of neighbors that must look out into this inner square of peace in the city. The multi-use buildings surrounding this enclosed space are 8 floors high. Out on the street around me, one finds a very large book store, cafés, bakeries, a kebab restaurant, a natural foods store, and a large grocery store, along with other smaller businesses. So much is all right here.
And my terrace! “La mia terrazza!” It’s bigger than my whole apartment! I could have a party with 50 or more out there enjoying the evening balm. (When I lived here for a year, my “terrace” was so small we called it “the shelf”.)
This really is a fabulous location. Because it’s encircled within this “courtyard”, it’s mostly shielded from city traffic sounds. For the most part, I hear the “neighbors”. Yet, in two blocks’ walk, I can be at the grocery store, or an even shorter walk to the metro. I can walk on the paths through two green parks to arrive at Leonardo’s Grand Canal, the Naviglio Grande, lined with restaurants, shops, artists’ studios and nightlife. I can easily hop onto the metro subway and get into the heart of town within 15 minutes, or rather choose to stroll and enjoy the sights along the way.
Che divino! How divine. Oh yes, it’s city life, but I did my stint on The Farm for 2 decades, so I’m not interested in “Under the Tuscan Sun”, renovating a dilapidated farm house. I want the hubbub and offerings of this big, international city. I want easy access to it all. I want the buzz and energy of it. But I also appreciate the peace offered to me by this giant terrace, jutting out into this enclosed space, private and yet oh so visible by all the other “neighbors”.
Journal Entry: Wednesday, 12 September 2018 – Milan
Did I really just arrive in my home-away-from-home, Milan, this morning?! Here I am again. And it all feels so easy and familiar. Not that there is nothing new or no challenge. There is still much to see, explore, discover, learn. This place stretches me differently than Burien and Seattle. AND it’s a time entirely for me. (This is my 11th year of coming here.)
My apartment on the 5th floor, (circled), above the Naviglio night life.
I’m in a 5th floor walkup apartment*, no elevator. 90 Steps up to the front door. The entrance looks out over inner courtyards, gold-hued stucco, tile rooftops. Inside, there is an opening window from floor to ceiling that looks directly down onto the Naviglio Grande (the Grand Canal) and it’s changing bustle. The white noise of wine-fueled conversation during the evening aperitivo is oddly comfortable. *(The Italians call it the 4th floor; the ground floor is floor zero.)
The view to the south from the apartment entry door.
The view to the north from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Naviglio Grande.
Other than celebrating my birthday in 3 days, and honoring Patti on the 2nd anniversary of her death, and having 2 girlfriends come here for 2 weeks… I don’t have a big, new goal or purpose for this trip. It’s just that I can’t not have my time in Italia, for whatever it is to me.
Journal Entry: Friday, 14 September 2018 – Milan, 8:30 a.m.
Sitting canalside, way up high, listening to morning sounds of church and cyclists’ bells, deliveries on cobblestone, traffic, sidewalk conversations. The city awakens.
Yesterday, I made my pilgrimage into the center of town to the Duomo (Cathedral) di Milano – which I love – and then strolled around through the adjacent Galleria and to Luini’s for a Panzerotto. Just being here with ease and familiarity… Feeling nestled in as much as a foreigner can.
The Duomo di Milano
Near the southeast corner of the Duomo, there is a sculpture of a disemboweled man. I suppose the sculptures and paintings were meant to inspire the illiterate masses to live according to the Church’s tenets… or suffer the consequences.
The domed, glass roof of the Galleria.
One of the Louis Vuitton window displays in the Galleria.
Luini’s was established in 1888 and is a popular spot with locals and those that stumble upon it, tucked onto a side street just north of the Duomo. They sell Panzerotti: stuffed, deep-fried (or baked) hot pockets. Lots of filling options!
Along the Naviglio Grande (Grand Canal) the San Cristoforo dragon boats and kayaks cruise through every day, to the beat of a drummer to keep time, occasionally accompanied by the church bells. (CanottieriSanCristoforo.it)
Journal Entry: Thursday, 20 September 2018 – Milan
Days have been hot and humid, but have turned delicious, from 75 – 80 degrees and a freshness from a few nighttime showers.
View from the sleeping loft, down into the living room and beyond, to the Naviglio night life.
It is rather dreamy that I “get” to do this. But really, there’s no “getting” involved. I have made and do make different choices and I’ve structured my life so that I can spend some of it here in an entirely different place and mode.
My Farmer’s Market Purchases: Clockwise, from upper left: Taralli with black pepper, produce bag with the Duomo on it, Borlotti beans, castelvetrano olives, pickled onions, turkish figs, yellow peaches, onions, tuna stuffed red peppers, green string beans.
This feeds me, and it pushes me. Foreign country, language, customs. And Milan. An international seat of design, which gives it such contrast and stark visual appeal. The old history, side-by-side with clean, high design, honed and spare. I thrill at Milan. Every city could take a lesson from its well-defined branding and identity.
The recycling trucks start along the Naviglio Grande at about 6:00 in the morning. Since the Naviglio is such a restaurant and drinking hot spot, there are thousands of bottles to be collected. The sound they make when dumped is such a crashing clamor to wake up to!
Journal Entry: Saturday, 22 September 2018 – Milan
Warm day. The Naviglio is in a relaxed stroll. A street musician is playing his guitar along the canal, out in front of the elementary school. The white noise of conversation at outdoor, umbrella-covered cafè tables drifts up to my open window, high above. I marvel that this is possible. That I can pack my bags, bring my work and step into this life for a period. Remarkable.
Journal Entry. 1 Gennaio 2017 (January 1, 2017) – Milano
Day 3 of a cold that has kept me layin’ low. Enforced rest. Certainly no kicking-up-my-heels last night. By 8:30 p.m. I was yearning for sleep.
New Year’s Eve, 2009/2010 I stayed at home here, writing, as I generally do. I could have gone to the Piazza del Duomo then, for the Italian New Year’s festivities. Instead, I listened to the fireworks outside, while seated at the long table in my home on Via Bordighera.
The opportunity for a carefree, celebratory hurrah in front of the Duomo has passed. The reports I see from last night show the beloved cathedral and its perimeter barricaded, armored, protected by police and military with machine guns. All holiday revelers faced searches and long lines to proceed through to the New Year’s concert. The metro stops to the Duomo were closed completely.
It was, in fact, leading up to this as Christmas approached, too. Feeling spirited and festive, Piazza del Duomo visitors enjoyed the advent concerts amidst heavily armed military and barricades.
Last night, lying in bed as midnight approached, I listened to fireworks, but also sounds that could have easily been real bombs. How would I have known? After each explosion, sometimes feeling my bed shake, I listened for sirens – or their absence – and took the pulse by the tone of voices I heard out in the courtyard. I figured that if there were true danger, then sirens and voices would speak of such urgency.
This morning I read in the news reports of mayhem along the Naviglio Pavese, just two blocks away. I guess that some of those ka-booms may have, indeed, been bombs.
It’s come to this: proactive protection of beloved, sacred places; the thought that a loud “bang” could indeed be a bomb; The adjustment to and acceptance of bodily searches; the anticipation of attacks; the realization that every conspicuous, large gathering is potentially a vulnerable target and, therefore, a gut-driven avoidance of such crowds.
Does that mean the terrorists have won? They, who have no regard of life, cultural treasure or community well-being have changed us. They have changed how we think and what we do. Whether they kill any more people or destroy any more cultural heritage sites, or not, they have gotten into our heads.
I looked at New Year’s Eve reports in the Seattle Times and only found beautiful pictures of fireworks emanating from the Space Needle. There was no mention of machine guns or barricades. I guess we still enjoy being in an imaginary bubble there. (We’re more visibly armed against each other than we are against outside threats.)
When here in Europe, sitting so close to the center of a major, international city, I suppose I’m closer to genuine danger than when I’m sitting in my lovely home in Burien, looking out over the water. But I still chose to come. This is the first year (of 9 in a row) when the suspicion of danger, and the armament against it, has been so evident. Much has changed in the world in 9 years.
Many years ago in an Adult-Ed program, a particular exercise guided me in seeing when and how I was influenced by my fears, from the smallest hesitations to the largest decisions. It was eye-opening and a jolt to my view of myself. Since then, I have tried to at least recognize when it’s been fear that’s been constraining my choices. I don’t like to think of my decisions and outlook as being fear-based.
How do we reconcile it all? How do we balance fear and openness? How do we listen to the daily, world news reports and not develop protective callouses? How do we see machine guns and not succumb to the fear they arouse? (And that’s not even talking about the places in the midst of outright war!)
Being right here, right now, has made the world situation undeniable and right-up-in-my-face. The challenge then, is to acknowledge the terrors that exist, be prudently alert, choose openness anyway, then seek out and marvel at the kindnesses that reveal themselves at an individual level. It’s what I must do to keep from cowering, afraid.
High on a hill is the town of Assisi, home of Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone, born in 1181, later known as Saint Francis, “San Francesco d’Assisi“. But Francesco, one who relinquished all his worldly goods for a life of poverty and simplicity, would rail at the Assisi of today, the streets of which are lined with shops selling tourist and religious kitsch.
As part of a trip to Umbria, and as one who attended St. Francis of Assisi grade school and church (in Burien, Washington), Assisi was a “must see” for me. I simply had to look past the kitsch.
Lesson number one: “Assisi” is not pronounced “A-SISS-ee”, but is rather “Ah-SEE-zee”. It’s an Italian pronunciation thing.
Yes. Go to Assisi. See the beautiful and historic 13th century Basilica of San Francesco and the Basilica of Santa Chiara (St. Clare). Sit in front of the tomb of Francesco with whatever sense of mystery fills your life. Go inward and marvel for a moment. Also relish the lavish decoration of both basilicas (photos were not allowed) and allow it all to inspire you. Some of our world’s great artists lent their vision and talent to the imagery we see there today!
Assisi is a contrast between the devout and the opportunistic, but… with 4 to 5 million visitors a year, can we blame them for responding to the needs and wishes of the throngs?
When going into a new town, seek out the highest point from which to get the most sweeping overview. This will quite often guide your further exploration. In this case, I was back in Florence – Firenze – and planned to head back up to the top of the Duomo for my second time.
Walking from my hotel, along the Via dei Servi, the Duomo loomed large, dominating the neighborhood street scene. I was heading to the cupola walkway at the top of the double-brick-walled dome!
It was worth paying for the guided tour of the church and its high terraces. There was no waiting in line, and the group had access to places the average visitor cannot see.
The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore (English: Basilica of Saint Mary of the Flower) is the main church of Florence, Italy. The Duomo, as it is ordinarily called, was begun in 1296 in the Gothic style to the design of Arnolfo di Cambio and completed structurally in 1436 with the dome engineered by Filippo Brunelleschi. The exterior of the basilica is faced with polychrome marble panels in various shades of green and pink bordered by white and has an elaborate 19th century Gothic Revival façade by Emilio De Fabris.
The cathedral complex, located in Piazza del Duomo, includes the Baptistery and Giotto’s Campanile. The three buildings are part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site covering the historic centre of Florence and are a major attraction to tourists visiting the region of Tuscany. The basilica is one of Italy’s largest churches, and until development of new structural materials in the modern era, the dome was the largest in the world. It remains the largest brick dome ever constructed.
In this photo, you can see the dome in the background, behind the flat, front facade of the church. Giotto’s square campanile bell tower is adjacent to the south side (right) of the church.
The interior floor of the church is a dramatic eye-full of pattern. Keep in mind that this is all stone, cut and inlaid! Look at the optical illusion of the pattern on the floor in the bottom of the picture!
Above the main door is the colossal clock face with fresco portraits of four Prophets or Evangelists by Paolo Uccello (1443). This one-handed liturgical clock shows the 24 hours of the hora italica (Italian time), a period of time ending with sunset at 24 hours. This timetable was used until the 18th century. This is one of the few clocks from that time that still exist and are in working order. (Wikipedia)
The fresco on the interior of the dome was started by Vasari and Zuccari in 1568, depicting The Last Judgement.
Portrayals of hell, dark and bloody red at the bottom of the fresco, are gruesome and macabre. Inspiration to follow the church and obediently tithe?
From upper, exterior terraces and walkways, we had a different vantage point of the Campanile.
We were close enough to clearly see the stone detail of the Campanile exterior.
It seemed we were almost close enough to reach out and touch the Campanile as we looked down to the ground.
The Duomo’s octagonal top.
The marble of the Basilica is white from Carrara, green from Prato and rosy red from Siena.
We were about to re-enter the high interior and climb the added 300 steps to the cupola.
The dome is constructed of two walls of brick. There is a narrow, convoluted stairway/walkway that winds upwards between the two layers. Occasional, small windows allow light and peek-a-boo views.
It got complicated when those ascending and those descending crossed paths and had to make way. One frequently had to tuck into a tiny blind spot to let the other pass.
In some places there are narrow, steep staircases that go straight up between the dome walls.
Here you can see a couple of the tiny “blind spots” a person tucks into to let another pass by when going in the opposite direction. Imagine designing this staircase!
This is the rustic latch and pendulum on the trap door that opens up to the open air cupola walk way.
The cupola has doorways and columns forming viewpoint terraces. Can you believe that people would write graffiti all over this ancient marble?
Giotto’s Campanile dominates this panorama, looking southwest.
The south-facing panorama looking toward Piazzale Michelangelo high on the hill.
From the cupola we look right out onto the main piazza and the Baptistery.
Looking northwest, we see the Church of San Lorenzo. The green copper roof is the Mercato Centrale, a ponderous central market with every sort of food vendor. And note the white awnings of the street market alongside San Lorenzo Church.
Always climb to the highest point. It’s a good place from which to gaze and contemplate.
Pope Benedict XVI arrived in Milano yesterday for an evening greeting to the citizens that welcomed him at the Piazza del Duomo (Milano’s central cathedral). The event had slipped my mind, so I didn’t make it, but heard the huge piazza had been filled with thousands of people.
This morning though, I got up early, took the subway into the center of town, rose up into the piazza, and found enough space to squeeze into right against the front barricade. I waited, along with countless others, for the Pope’s arrival.
Why did I go? Some of it was morbid curiosity. Some was sociological observation. Italy is 92% Catholic and I am face-to-face with the Church’s presence, literally, at every turn here. Going to see the Pope was like going to see any other festival or holiday event particular to this country. I went because it would, perhaps, inform me about Italy and her people.
Also, I was raised Catholic, but haven’t followed Catholicism for decades. Still, it’s part of my history and I have family and friends for whom it remains vital.
Of the last 4 years, I have spent an accumulated near-2 years here in Italy. And in these 2 years, I have been to mass and in church more than in all the last 30 years combined. For one, it has seemed a part of the “Italian Experience”. Secondly, I’ve often stepped into a church to shoot photos, and have found myself at the beginning or in the middle of mass, so I stayed. And thirdly, there’s something satiating about the ritual, symbology, artistry and essence of spirituality that speaks to me.
But I can no longer abide by the Catholic Church’s teachings, leadership or system. I feel too much conflict with the Church to be a “good Catholic girl” ever again. There are too many things that amount to an affront to me and to those I love.
Granted, my Catholic upbringing is part of what formed who I am today, and of course that influence will always remain. But anymore, I think that I approach spirituality much like the way I cook: I don’t follow any recipes, and I throw a little of everything into the pot. So Catholicism is but one of the many spices in the soup of who I am.
– – –
I stood for a couple hours at the edge of a crowd of thousands waiting for the Pope to arrive. The church was full-to-the-brim with local “religious”: priests (of all titles and levels) and nuns. The public was not allowed in, but could view events inside the Duomo on two large video displays set up on the piazza. As the 10:00 a.m. arrival time neared, the crowd grew larger and more anxious. A helicopter circled overhead. Security personnel, in chic Italian suits, milled around, and volunteers bridged the space between the crowd and the Pope’s planned path.
When the Pope-mobile first came into view, the crowd erupted in cheers and exclamations of wild adoration, screaming all around me: “Viva il Papa!” “Ciao, Papa!” Pope Benedict rode behind bullet-proof glass in an elevated enclosure on a custom vehicle. Security was tight around him. He was driven to the main door of the Duomo, slipped out of his car and right into the church.
From that moment, we were left with only the large video display shot from inside Milano’s Duomo, showing us the Pope’s every move. The greatest disappointment to all – and it truly nearly caused a riot – was that there was no audio with the video! You should have heard the people outside yelling! Elderly, missing perhaps their only opportunity to hear the Pope, were outraged and flashed every classic Italian gesture you’ve ever heard about. The young, all-so-accustomed to the wonders of technology, were disbelieving that they were given visuals with no sound. These rumblings went on for close to half an hour as we all watched the Pope’s silent pantomimes.
As I gaped at this carefully-ushered man of 85 years, who took very few steps unaided, whose every motion was tended to, I thought, “THIS is the man leading 6.5 billion Catholics?!” Figuring that half the population is female, THIS man is, therefore, guiding decisions that tangibly affect the lives of 3.25 billion women! What does he know about families and parenting?! What does he know about decisions women face every day that dramatically affect their own health and well-being, and that of those around them?! I was incredulous and felt all the more distant from the Church.
So, the event WAS eye-opening for me. I was closely surrounded by people that felt a fervent ardor for Pope Benedict and the Catholic Church. And yet I left feeling all the more disconnected.
My late mother, a very devout Catholic herself, once told me that “all roads lead to Tacoma”. It was her way of saying that the eclectic, spiritual soup that I am is OK with her. Perhaps we would have had a rousing discussion today after watching Benedict ride away in his Pope-mobile. And perhaps her comments would have happily surprised me; she had become quite vocal and imperative about change at the parish level in the years before she died. We may have agreed on more things than I realize.
– – –
Just like in the “May Procession” as a little kid (always the shortest, so placed at the front of the line), and pressed against the barricade by thousands of people, all I could do was grab skewed shots of the large video displays off to the side. I haven’t bothered to straighten and fuss with them, but you’ll get the gist.
(Click on the individual photos to see a larger view of each one.)
Milano’s Duomo announced the arrival of Papa Benedetto XVI – Pope Benedict.
The crowd held people of all ages, anxious for the Pope’s arrival. The Galleria, “cathedral to consumerism”, was in the background, adjacent to the Duomo, Milano’s real cathedral.
On the video, we watched an image of ourselves filling the piazza.
Inside the Duomo, the Cathedral, priests and nuns awaited the Pope.
The entry procession began.
Like “regalia” of any culture, the Catholic Church has its “uniforms” that communicate rank and affiliation.
Celebrating the “Festa della Republica”, tricolore flags were plentiful. The security helicopter is just visible to the left of one flag.
The crowds erupted in cheers when the Pope-mobile first appeared.
Security was tight around Pope Benedict’s vehicle.
The Pope set foot into the Duomo and soon began greeting and blessing people.
The cathedral was packed with priests and nuns, and a few non-religious.
The advance-procession led ahead of the Pope.
Pope Benedict’s hand was always raised in blessing.
He did not walk down the central aisle of the church. He was pushed in a rolling cart.
Please tell me they didn’t really segregate nuns to one side of the church!
The procession of blessings continued.
The Pope’s every move was well tended to.
Milano’s Duomo is a grand, awe-inspiring enclosure.
The crowd watched as Benedict prayed… without sound.
This is the altar in the Duomo. The floor is all inlaid stone of black, red and white. Pope Benedict is seated up and to the left in the photo.
Dressed and singing.
Assisted even in his praying.
The Pope addressed the congregation in the church, silent to the thousands outside.
After a brief visit to the crypts, the Pope emerged and exited the church, thrilling the crowd.
This moment was certainly a highlight in the lives of many.
Here is a video clip of Pope Benedict XVI riding in his vehicle in front of the huge crowd.
In the “Vatican Player”, click on the TV tab, then “video news”, then “Sat, 6/2/12” to see videos of the day’s events. http://www.vatican.va/video/index.html
After sitting inside all day working, by 6:00 p.m. I had to get out and take a walk from here to my beloved Duomo. I had arrived late Tuesday evening, spent Wednesday getting settled and hadn’t yet been to my favorite landmark in town, 2 miles away from my apartment. I must always go to the Duomo, do a pilgrimage to the great cathedral.
I stretched the 4 mile loop out into just under 4 hours, shooting 200 photos along the way, catching sights that amused my eye. Come take a stroll with me and see what I see.
A Milanese fashion faux pas. I really think this woman needs a good friend to pull her aside and suggest a different outfit. Those are actually leggings printed to look like denim with funky strap markings. Very odd.
Milan has an intense cover of graffiti all over town, some of it quite artfully rendered. When is it acceptable, and to whom? When is it ugly defacing of property?
I find frequent evidence of fascination with Native American representations here in Italy.
These are the locking mechanisms operated by my funky-looking house keys.
Retro Levi’s signage.
One of Milano’s MANY bike-share stations! Swipe your debit/credit card and ride.
I specifically timed my walk to catch the early evening sun on the west-facing facade of the Duomo. (Note the red banner over the main door announcing the Pope’s visit coming up on June 3.)
The Piazza del Duomo is the “living room of the city” of Milano. This is the place to meet friends, people-watch, riot and celebrate. This piazza is the city’s heart.
The Duomo, (building commenced in the 1300s), has something like 4000 sculptures all over it, including this disemboweled man. Macabre! (And the point is?)
Yesterday was pretty chilly, so a warmer day today brought everyone outside onto the sidewalks and piazzas. The city was teeming with nightlife. Some bars had a couple hundred people outside, standing around with drinks and cigarettes.
All over Italy you’ll find freely running water fountains from which you can drink and/or fill your water bottle. (Though I never have.)
The Galleria is smack next to the Duomo: two adjacent cathedrals, one to consumerism, the other to religion and spiritual foundations (among other things, too many to discuss in a photo caption.) At the intersection of the Galleria, under the dome, is a Louis Vuitton store, Prada store and a McDonald’s!
The Galleria floor is richly embedded with mosaic. Last year I saw some men working to replace stone pieces, repairing the mosaic. I politely asked one of the men if I could have a square of black marble and he gave me one! (How many people have a piece of the Galleria floor?)
Part of the Louis Vuitton window display in the Galleria. (Milano has tremendous window displays!)
Of course I had to stop and pay Leonardo a visit. (He lived in Milano for many years and made many contributions to the city in the realm of not only art, but science, architecture, science and engineering.)
This one took me a minute… I did a double-take.
Since I often sign my letters with an “M”, I like these Metro signs scattered around town.
Not the best choice for a small meal, but at 8:00 p.m., with low-blood sugar and in the vicinity of the Duomo, I just needed food. For 5,40 Euro, I got one slice and a bottle of sparkling water. If I could have kept walking a bit, away from the tourist hub, I could have paid 8,00 Euro and had an apperitivo buffet and a glass of wine instead.
Piazza San Lorenzo Maggiore is illuminated and offering a place to sit with friends.
Here’s the same Piazza, earlier in the evening as people relaxed after work.
The street name is “Corso di Porta Ticinese”, which someone has translated with a rebus puzzle: the door is “Porta” + the letter “T”, pronounced “Ti” (tee) + plus the caricature of a Chinese man, which is “Cinese” in Italian. There’s an additional sign which I’d like to know the story behind: “The Way of Irony and Apathy”.
The Piazza XXIV Maggio is about 3 blocks from my home, at the junction of Corso di Porta Ticinese and Corso San Gottardo, where the Naviglio Grande and Naviglio Pavese (canals) meet. Year 1815.
Bike repair and sales shop late at night, at Piazza XXIV Maggio.
Fruit Map of Italy. (I’ve been to all of the places shown.)
Almost, but not quite at the tippy-tip of the “heel of the boot” of Italy, the city of Lecce (roughly pronounced “lay-chay“) has much more to marvel at than is possible in two short days. With its Roman amphitheater smack in the middle of the town square, its over-the-top Baroque architecture, castles, parks, a duomo… plenty of fabulous Pugliese food, and some very nice people, I easily recommend Lecce as a destination to explore.
I walked both the main paths and the narrow side streets of the centro storico – the historic center of the walled city. And I strolled along the neighborhood side streets far from the tourist buzz, to get a broader view.
The front of Lecce’s Duomo:
The porta at the Chiesa di SS. Niccoló e Cataldo:
Fotosport:
Castello di Carlo V:
Mimmino, the meat cutter. I wandered into a little market to buy a mixed bag of food to eat for a strolling lunch. He sold me meat, olives and water. Another vendor sold me nespole – loquats.
Piazza del Duomo in the late afternoon:
Also staying at the Torre del Parco were Ted, Greer, Deb and John, cyclists from Boston. I envied them their giro in bici – bike tour – of Puglia! They were following a self-guided tour arranged by a small company. (I’m turning green.)
Hotelmates on a sunny morning:
“Leave the passageway clear”:
What era does this signage spring from?
The amphitheater by day:
Such a combination of textures and details:
A tricolore balcony. Since Italy just celebrated its 150th anniversary this spring, the flag is displayed abundantly around the country.
A “bar” in Italy is not the same as a “bar” in the U.S. Go to a bar for coffee, water, sandwiches, snacks, pastries… or a drink.
What an abundance of antennas!
I was walking on a distant side street shooting photos of signs, and a man started talking to me about his friend, Vito:
Vito happened to be inside giving a haircut:
As I unintentionally made a short walk into a long walk on my way to the train station out of Lecce (it’s a long story), I saw the track-sides filled with poppies, which are also blooming all over Italy right now.
It’s no joke that I’m in the “presidential suite” at the Palace Hotel, in the region of Calabria, the town of Catanzaro Lido. The waves of the Ionian Sea are rolling in just off my private balcony. I could throw a stone (hard) and it would land in the water, on the other side of the Via Lungomare – the road along the sea. I will sleep with the sound of incoming saltwater tonight.
When one “leaves their options open” or “plays it by ear” sometimes there aren’t many options left, thus, the Presidential Suite, with it’s brocade-clad, padded walls. But after the raucous three nights in Cefalu and Taormina Sicilia, I needed some quiet and something unlike Disneyland.
Last night I slept a much-needed, holy sleep. Today I amused myself with exploration. First thing, I went to the little travel agency next to my hotel to buy my ticket for a long train ride tomorrow. At the agency, I met Valentina and Aurelia, and a man they know from Naples. We all laughed and talked for half an hour and it was the kind of personal connection I needed. (When I returned to my room tonight, Aurelia dropped by a beautifully packaged gift of some homemade soppressata. How dear! I happened to have brought some “Seattle Spices” along with me in case I needed a gift, plus some personal note cards, so I wrote out some notes to the two women and stopped over to drop them off.)
Aurelia’s Soppressata is delicious, with a slight smokey flavor:
After the travel agency, I hit the road… and then stood there. I found the newsstand where I could buy a city bus ticket, then I found the bus stop and asked a young guy if I was in the right place to go to the city of Catanzaro (the part up on the hill). I was at the right stop and the bus was “10 minutes away”. Hopeful and anxious passengers started gathering, and waiting, and complaining. Congested traffic on narrow streets in Catanzaro Lido was almost comic. (Imagine two cement mixers passing each other! They did so in the extra width of an intersection, likely well-practiced.)
As I waited with everyone else, I was pleased that I was having a snippet of REAL daily life of a Catanzaro citizen. (There wasn’t a tour group in sight.) An hour after waiting, I got on the bus with just a small, general map of the two Catanzaros, and absolutely NO idea where I was going, what I would see or when I would get off. How lost could I get? I could always get a cab if it came to that.
I marvel at the systematic chaos that is traffic in Italy, and especially here in the south. It all seems to work, but slowly. There are very few stop lights and much bravado, and it took forever for the full-size city bus to make it through Catanzaro Lido. We stopped at the train station, then through little pocket towns like beads on a string that seem to comprise greater Catanzaro.
We kept winding up toward the hill top. What was I looking for? People. Curious sights and signs. Something to catch my eye. History. I could find the duomo – cathedral – on my little map, but couldn’t determine where we were in relation to each other.
I rode until the near-northernmost point of the city and got out at lunchtime. In a little grocery, I bought toothpaste, shampoo, 50 grams of mortadella and a sliver wedge of some lovely blue cheese. At the neighboring baker’s, I bought a square of focaccia with tomato sauce, which they heated for me. I carried my stash through the city amidst 10-story apartment buildings and scrawny, stray cats, and found a little park bench in a windy spot. I lay the meat and cheese onto my focaccia, folded the whole thing in half and had an amazing sandwich, washed down with San Pellegrino.
Since it had taken nearly 2 hours to get UP to the top, by 3:00 I figured I’d better start heading back down to the hotel. It was a quicker journey somehow, and I got off at the west end of town to walk, look, shoot and shop for dinner and my train lunch tomorrow. It’ll be a 7-hour journey tomorrow, with one shuttle ride, three coarse, regional trains and two quick train transfers. There’ll be no time or place to buy food, so this afternoon I stopped at the bakery for a couple of fresh rolls, at the meat shop for fresh buffalo mozzarella, at the produce vendor for fresh peas in-the-shell, datterini tomatoes, two mandarins and a pear, and the pastry shop for a couple of biscotti. That ought to be a lovely train lunch!
How did I pick Catanzaro in the first place? I was in Sicilia and just had to get out of Taormina. I was heading east to Puglia and Catanzaro was in between. It’s also the hometown of my first Italian “professoressa”, Enza. And… quite simply, I was able to find a hotel room available.
Tomorrow, from the ball-of-the-foot here in Calabria, to the heel in Puglia.
