Wednesday 10 September 2008

Steep'd in Honey'd Indolence

I know that is the wrong poet for these literary shores, but I generally prefer Keats to Byron or Shelley (The only Byron I can recall is the fabulous Gaior; wholly inappropriate but wildly romantic: 'Who thundering comes on blackest steed with flashing bit and hooves of speed' (or something).

Anyway, today I discovered utter contentment. How can I convey the complete bliss of lying on hot rocks under a wide blue sky, listening to the swell plosh against the shoreline ? Or the deep contentment of occassionally slipping into the water and bobbing about on the wake of yet another vast yacht cruising past? Or watching the fishes shoal around the breakwater - little electric blue jobs, about the size of a mackerel, flitting about in swarming slivers. Then getting out and doing nothing again, perhaps laughing to myself at the sheer unalloyed pleasure of doing nothing at all. It only needed a bronzed God to emerge, Poseidon-like, from the waves, and my birthday would be complete.

Yes, another year has gone by. Thanks for all the messages and calls. As you can tell, it has been a bit of a blinder: wandering the hot and dusty footpaths of the Cinque Terre villages and lemon and olive groves in the morning and doing absolutely nothing in the afternoon. Nothing is such a nice thing to do after a month of being on the road, you know. Yet, already, I feel the call of the mountains and stealth bike, I fear, is also itching to be released from his (expensive) cubby hole here in Portovenere's poshest hotel and hit the road once more - for the Tuscan hills and Chianti shire. It is a tough life, I tell you.

Now, before I see just how many gelati it is possible to eat in one day (most of my calories seem to come in liquid (iced tea pesca) or semi-liquid (aka ice cream) form these days), I will summarise my plans for the next few weeks for all those who are talking or thinking of joining me (go on, you know you want to!).

1. Tuscany and Umbria for the rest of September, reaching Rome by October 3rd (hope you can join me Jen, David and Guilliamo! Be so cool to be there for Will's first birthday!!!!!!! In Rome!!!!)

2. Amalfi the week following (if you can make it Phil?), before getting the boat for Sicily (Val?? Still interested in seeing the old country again?)

3. Planning to monster up the adriatic as the weather gets worse and reach Ravenna by end October / early November (Dan, Fran, this will be the Abruzzi zone).

4. Then Bologna, Mantua, Padua, Ferrara etc. in some kind of logical order before Venice and the Veneto (Rob, still okay to drop round yours and say hello to the family?)

5. Crossing the Alps again by the Reschen pass (1,500 m) Hopefully it will still be open in mid / late November, otherwise I guess I'll stop around Trentino. (Gill, these will be the Alps again, if you really want mountains!!)

Old Hags - that Etruscan spa has a place waiting for us, with hot and cold running masseures, you only have to say the word.

Off to have a slap up meal and sing myself happy birthday en terrasse now.

Vx

Tuesday 9 September 2008

Lazee Dayz amongst the Maize

Hello there, Peeps

You find me in fine spirits today despite edging ever closer to another annual milestone. But since I feel I am, like Merlin, getting younger with every hour I spend in Italy, I don't really mind. I especially don't mind since I am spending my compleanno basking on the shores of the Tyrrhenian se, aka the Mediterranean (apologies for spelling). I am on the edge of the Cinque Terre, and will shortly be holed up in the most expensive and luxurious B and B or hotel I can find in Portovenere, from where I can take a boat up the coast, or to an island complete with monastery..there is no limit to the joy, I can tell you. Even more so since when not pootling in UNESCO World heritage listed landscapes and villages, I can take a dip in the Golf dei Poeti, following in the footsteps (or is that the breaststrokes?) of those 19th century bad boys, Mad Bad and Dangerous To Know Byron, who apparently swum across said gulf, and barking mad Shelley, who patently failed to swim across it, since he drowned here in the early 1800s.

Anyway, since I las dropped you aline frmo not so enchanting PavIa, I have been having abit of a kulture-fest. Went to Cremona, home of all things violin and a simply splendid mediaeval ensemble of Palazzo, Duomo and baptistry (plus best gelati in the world. Mmm, melone !). But best of all, Cremona was also, temporarily, home to the World Fishing Championships, held in the local canal no less (an image of all these pro fishermen trying to haul anything but Tesco shopping trolleys out of the Tinsley docks still lingers).

I stumbled on the championships after a day of perfect pottering - sun bright and hot, air fresh and the sky a peerless blue. The rice fields shone particularly golden that morning as I followed in the footsteps of Archbishop Sigeric in the 8th century, nearly fording the Po at Corte St. Andre on his route to Rome. Anyway, in taking my wandering path through the paddies, following the sluices and levees, I happened across a row of fisherfolk for as far as the eye could see. Never seen anything like it. Apparently the English are the men to beat (one Sir Alan Scoton or something), and there is something of a grudge match thing going on between us and the Itis. Catch it now on Sky Sports. Or not, as you wish.

Anyway, all this fishy activitiy meant that my accommodation in Cremona was not as romantic and deilghtful as the town deserved (let that be a warning to me to check the schedule of the World Angling assocition next time around). Not that staying above a Chinese restaurant really mattered, however, since I also stumbled on something even more interesting than fat fishermen: the Tavola de Sant'Agata, a panel which rivals Cimabue in importance as a precursor of Renaissance figurative art.

Things got even more high brow after that, as I set off for Patrma, with music, gastronomy and painting vying for supremacy. Despite the glories of Prosciutto cotto and sprinkable cheese, I think music and art won in the end. Music in the guise of one Giuseppe Verdi, whose birthplace and villa I passed amongst the maize fields. (Geraldine, you will be pleased to know that I paid due tribute by cycling along singing a little bit of Rigoletto and Traviata, which seemed to surprise, but not displease the local townsfolk of Busetto.).

Art, however, probably edged it in the end, with two great masters and their masterpieces - Corregio and Parmigiano. Now, I'm not a huge fan of Renaissance painting, quite frankly. I can only tolerate so many soulful Madonna and Childs before I get a bit,well, bored. But I am a total convert to Renaissance frescoes - utterly magnificent, a festival of life. I am by no means any kind of expert or even a knowledgable amateuyr, but even the most profound artistic dunderhead can recognise genius when she sees it. Corregio was clearly one such genius - St Paul's room in Parma is jaw-droppingly brilliant, not just in the rendering of the variety of human forms, but in the psycology of man. The difference from all the mediaeval stuff I saw in France is amazing but then we are talking around a half century after. These were delightful, cheeky and knowing little cherubs, graceful greek muses and wise philosophers and various classical figures posed as statuary. the perspective and trompe l'oeil was fabulous, it looked as if the figures were climbing or peering around balustrades that weren't there.Parmigiano - a master of Mannerism (an elaboration (some might say copy cat) of Raphael and his school), not only seemed to have painted figures but ahve created characters and individual personalities. I can really understand why they saythe Renaissance is about humanism and science as much as art. Without wishing to claim these people prefigured Freud or anything, it is clear that along with a more profound understanding of the human body that came from its study through dissection, there was a greater understanding of the human mind. These figures don't seem passive at all: in fact, it is rather intriguing how them seem not only to look back at you, but to be considering your looking at them with a wry amusement, as if they know something you don't.

Sadly, the most famous of all the masterpieces Parma has to offer - the Corregio cupola in the cathedral (all the great and the good crowding upo to heaven, seen from below, rather irreverently, with legs dangling beneath the clouds) was hidden from view by restoration works. Still, no hardship to come back and eat more ham.

The next day there were more frescoes - the famous grotesques at the Castle of Torrechiara. These too were marvellous things - all curvilinear, misty romantic castles and classical ruins. But there was something rather sybbaritic about them too - the strange half women half lion phantasmagoria and the sheer number of graceful forms. Though it was beautifully done, it didn't have the realism and power of the earlier work, but then,it wasn't intended to. This was self indulgent venery, about worldly pleasures and pursuits, a little decadent, a little about showing off power. The crowning glory was a 3D map of the lords domains on the ceiling of the gold room, so he and his lover could survey their territories if they got, er, bored.

Perhaps you'll find it a relief to knw that after all this frescoe feasting, yesterday has been more about real landscape than landscape art. I crossed the Ciso pass at 1041 m through what I can only say is some fo the loveliest scenary thus far. The road was a joy, shaded by a forest of durmast oak and sweet chestnut and winding up with the perfect gradient. Just enough to make it challenging not too slow to be dull, but with no horrible steeps as per the Grand St. Bernard when it feels like you thigh muscles will fear apart at any minute. The downs too, were a delight - into Toscana and then Liguria, on a perfect surface, with no traffic and enough slope and swooping curves to really hurtle without too much white knuckle terror. I did not pedal for over an hour!!!! Whizzed through wood cloaked Appenine hills, with a backdrop of some truly scarey shards of marble sticking up like teeth to the south east of me.The only downside was the Autostrade, which although distant, was noise pollution of the worse kind. But since I was laughing and whooping myself, I didn't really notice. The most fun I have had on a bike since the Pyrenees, when I did much the same thing racing the timber trucks.

And so,two days of indulgence and real decadent pleasures to follow. I cannot wait. Then I am off to Pisa to meet my brother - Andrew this time - as I have heard that it now takes two to hold up the Torre Pendente. But, you know, even more than seeing the Piazza of Miracles in Pisa, I am looking forward to washing my clothes. It is the small pleasures and the small things that really count, you know.

More anon.

Ciao

Vx