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
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
Lemons into Lemonade
Hello all from Lombardy!
Am in Pavia, or PavIa as they say it here. I would like to say that I love it, as it is a nice little ancient university town - one of the most ancient in Europe I believe, sometime around the 10th century, beating both Cambridge and Oxford into a cocked hat. But I confess, after a 110 km day, through the oppressive humidity of the Lomellina plains, I was decidedly underwhelmed. It isn't the town's fault, exactly, since it is nice enough really, and it does claim a Duomo designed in part by Leonardo da Vinci. It is just that the seething mass of outskirts horridness and arriving to find that the Office of Tourism had moved from its advertised location (helpfully, as ever, on the very edge of town (what is wrong with these people?)) meant that when I finally tracked down its new location, it had shut. This meant, at 5.30, and without any obvious hotels, I had to find somewhere to stay. Mercifully, the ole Lonely Planet yielded one place which only charged 120 euros per room.........................! (I thought that book was supposed to be for students and gap year wastrels for God sake!) Anyway, mercifully it turned out that the deluxe palazzo option had a scrubby two star literally next door, so I am sitting here with a sweet little chap in the reception letting me use his computer to say hello to you all.
PavIa also redeemed itself for another reason, which prompted the title (a saying given to me by three Aussies I met staying in Barolo a couple of nights ago.) Having finally got myself settled, I decided to go and visit the said Duomo to find it swathed in scaffolding and plastic (apparently a bell tower fell down a few years ago and killed four people so it turns out Leonardo wasn't all that crash hot an architect) Anyway, feeling that the day was compounding rubbishness on rubbishness, I was about to stomp off and go back to my room, when I saw two men approaching in black cassocks and dog collars. They said hello and I ended up telling them what I was doing, so the Bishop of Pavia (for it was no less than he) asked me into the Archbishops Palace, a magnificent building opposite the said church. Now, inside this building (which is, incidentally, not open to the public) was a fabulous marble staircase adorned with Old Masters. He led me into a room full of paintings of archbishops and bishops, of which he, it seems, it the 108th. (By way of comparison, our Archbishop of Canterbury is no. 104, which must put Pavia as an bishopric dating from at least the 6th century.)
Anyway, the Bish and I got talking a bit, despite my having confessed to not being Catholic, and so he ended up taking me into another room. There on the wall was a painting of John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary by none other than Leonardo the Rubbish Architect. It was fantastic, I must say and only me there staring at it. And nice too, to see it as part of the furniture, rather than yet another old master on a gallery wall. When I finally left, the Bish blessed me despite my not being Catholic, wishing angels to follow my wheels. His young companion, dear ole handsome Father Paolo, then showed me out of the palace, asking me in that glorious gorgeous English-Italian to say a prayer for him when I reached Rome. Then he touched my cheek (the ole charmer) and said 'bellissima' and wished me on my way. This is what I mean by fate and lemons into lemonade, my friends: even when things seem crap, somehow they turn out for the best.
And, in retrospect, despite the Agip refineries, the Lomellina plains were rather beautiful, at least for much of the way. I have finally changed from the fruit basket of Piedmont to the endless golden riceries of the Po. Indeed, since I last mailed, I have been climbing through vine country, through the truly lovely mountains of Monferrato. The only downside was the climbing bit, which was sometimes wickedly steep and in the baking heat, was pretty killing. But the views from the village of La Morra (570m), as promised, were utterly stunning - crossed hatches vineyards contouring rolling hills as far as the eye could see. They are not far off harvest and the vines are turning slightly yellow, and the grapes are draped, huge and purple, just off the ground. Plus I have been doing the ole Agriturismo, stayed in a lovely one just down the road from Barolo, where I met the said Australian ladies. The hostess, Rafaella was also lovely. I will post the address for all those thinking of going off in search of Italy's best red wine.
But, before I forget !!! (So much has happened people, it is really difficult to keep up!) Here is another story of Italian niceness, this time from the lovely mediaeval bourg of Saluzzo.
I arrived, as always, hot and sweaty to find the tourist office of former Marquisate of Saluzzo closed until 2.30 pm. I was about to sit in the shade and sulk, rather exhausted, and wait for Italy to open up shop for the afternoon. But a chap peering out of a window saw me and invited me in for coffee.
Now since his place was actuallly a restaurant, I assumed I would end up paying for it, but no, acqua fresca and coffee duly arrived for free. And lovely generous and very very sweet Albino the Restaurant owner kept dashing off and telling me places to go and things to see. Even before the tourist office opened, I was armed with all I needed to tell me that I should stay a couple of days. So, because of dear ole Albino, I ended up at the Castle of Manta and discovering some of the finest International Gothic frescoes in Europe. Fate, again, you see. They were fantastic, lining the walls of the baronial hall, depicting the Fountain of Youth and the heroes and heroines of antiquity. All that mediaeval, crazy maze, out of perspective drawing and the men and women pattern cards of venery and hunting amidst the greenery. Another room was full of later Mannerist frescoes: wall to ceiling classical imagry of dragon slaying, apollo and bacchus. It turns out that this narrow corridor around Manta, Cuneo and Lagnasco was the means for the Renaissance to penetrate Piedmont and influence the Kings of Savoy. Sometimes, I feel like the luckiest person on the planet. Added to which, I ended up staying with the nuns that evening, and they were the nicest and friendliest nuns you'll ever meet! Then I went off to eat at Albino's - which turns out to be Saluzzo's finest restaurant - and the food was consequently absolutely lovely....I mean, really really really good. And he told me all about each dish (and there seemed to be millions of them) and where the food came from and what made it a regional speciality. And since Albino was the loveliest man in creation, he ended up giving me a bottle of very good Italian red wine to go with it (Barolo something or other, for those in the know). When I INSISTED I pay, he shook his head and said you pay for everything you eat but I pay for the wine! But I feel slightly better as I told the Aussies to go there last night and I hope he's made a huge profit from them!!!
Then, I realise, I have told you nothing of the lovely Pinerolo, and the gorgeous apartment in the pretty little mediaeval town (not the only thing gorgeous in that mediaeval town, may I tell you girls...). That was really interesting (!) as the family - who were really welcoming - turned out to be protestants (I think, originating in the Waldensians - proto-protestants of mediaeval times). Torre Pelice, just up the road, is an important Protestant sanctuary in the heart of the Catholic north. Honestly.....can I talk about fate again without risking boring you all to tears??
Sorry its been a bit of a chaotic post - very tired after my hot and bothered day.I am now off to worship at the Sanctuary of the Golden Arches....yes, McDonalds is across the road, and I really can't be bothered with a sit down meal before I collapse. Apologies to all Italians or food lovers. But I have been eating like a Princess for days now. (On this subject, before I go - Italian tomatoes....I have never tasted any tomatoes as good as these. Plus their peaches....infact, all their fruit tastes of....fruit....Now I must go before I start sounding like bloody Rick Stein!
Vx
Am in Pavia, or PavIa as they say it here. I would like to say that I love it, as it is a nice little ancient university town - one of the most ancient in Europe I believe, sometime around the 10th century, beating both Cambridge and Oxford into a cocked hat. But I confess, after a 110 km day, through the oppressive humidity of the Lomellina plains, I was decidedly underwhelmed. It isn't the town's fault, exactly, since it is nice enough really, and it does claim a Duomo designed in part by Leonardo da Vinci. It is just that the seething mass of outskirts horridness and arriving to find that the Office of Tourism had moved from its advertised location (helpfully, as ever, on the very edge of town (what is wrong with these people?)) meant that when I finally tracked down its new location, it had shut. This meant, at 5.30, and without any obvious hotels, I had to find somewhere to stay. Mercifully, the ole Lonely Planet yielded one place which only charged 120 euros per room.........................! (I thought that book was supposed to be for students and gap year wastrels for God sake!) Anyway, mercifully it turned out that the deluxe palazzo option had a scrubby two star literally next door, so I am sitting here with a sweet little chap in the reception letting me use his computer to say hello to you all.
PavIa also redeemed itself for another reason, which prompted the title (a saying given to me by three Aussies I met staying in Barolo a couple of nights ago.) Having finally got myself settled, I decided to go and visit the said Duomo to find it swathed in scaffolding and plastic (apparently a bell tower fell down a few years ago and killed four people so it turns out Leonardo wasn't all that crash hot an architect) Anyway, feeling that the day was compounding rubbishness on rubbishness, I was about to stomp off and go back to my room, when I saw two men approaching in black cassocks and dog collars. They said hello and I ended up telling them what I was doing, so the Bishop of Pavia (for it was no less than he) asked me into the Archbishops Palace, a magnificent building opposite the said church. Now, inside this building (which is, incidentally, not open to the public) was a fabulous marble staircase adorned with Old Masters. He led me into a room full of paintings of archbishops and bishops, of which he, it seems, it the 108th. (By way of comparison, our Archbishop of Canterbury is no. 104, which must put Pavia as an bishopric dating from at least the 6th century.)
Anyway, the Bish and I got talking a bit, despite my having confessed to not being Catholic, and so he ended up taking me into another room. There on the wall was a painting of John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary by none other than Leonardo the Rubbish Architect. It was fantastic, I must say and only me there staring at it. And nice too, to see it as part of the furniture, rather than yet another old master on a gallery wall. When I finally left, the Bish blessed me despite my not being Catholic, wishing angels to follow my wheels. His young companion, dear ole handsome Father Paolo, then showed me out of the palace, asking me in that glorious gorgeous English-Italian to say a prayer for him when I reached Rome. Then he touched my cheek (the ole charmer) and said 'bellissima' and wished me on my way. This is what I mean by fate and lemons into lemonade, my friends: even when things seem crap, somehow they turn out for the best.
And, in retrospect, despite the Agip refineries, the Lomellina plains were rather beautiful, at least for much of the way. I have finally changed from the fruit basket of Piedmont to the endless golden riceries of the Po. Indeed, since I last mailed, I have been climbing through vine country, through the truly lovely mountains of Monferrato. The only downside was the climbing bit, which was sometimes wickedly steep and in the baking heat, was pretty killing. But the views from the village of La Morra (570m), as promised, were utterly stunning - crossed hatches vineyards contouring rolling hills as far as the eye could see. They are not far off harvest and the vines are turning slightly yellow, and the grapes are draped, huge and purple, just off the ground. Plus I have been doing the ole Agriturismo, stayed in a lovely one just down the road from Barolo, where I met the said Australian ladies. The hostess, Rafaella was also lovely. I will post the address for all those thinking of going off in search of Italy's best red wine.
But, before I forget !!! (So much has happened people, it is really difficult to keep up!) Here is another story of Italian niceness, this time from the lovely mediaeval bourg of Saluzzo.
I arrived, as always, hot and sweaty to find the tourist office of former Marquisate of Saluzzo closed until 2.30 pm. I was about to sit in the shade and sulk, rather exhausted, and wait for Italy to open up shop for the afternoon. But a chap peering out of a window saw me and invited me in for coffee.
Now since his place was actuallly a restaurant, I assumed I would end up paying for it, but no, acqua fresca and coffee duly arrived for free. And lovely generous and very very sweet Albino the Restaurant owner kept dashing off and telling me places to go and things to see. Even before the tourist office opened, I was armed with all I needed to tell me that I should stay a couple of days. So, because of dear ole Albino, I ended up at the Castle of Manta and discovering some of the finest International Gothic frescoes in Europe. Fate, again, you see. They were fantastic, lining the walls of the baronial hall, depicting the Fountain of Youth and the heroes and heroines of antiquity. All that mediaeval, crazy maze, out of perspective drawing and the men and women pattern cards of venery and hunting amidst the greenery. Another room was full of later Mannerist frescoes: wall to ceiling classical imagry of dragon slaying, apollo and bacchus. It turns out that this narrow corridor around Manta, Cuneo and Lagnasco was the means for the Renaissance to penetrate Piedmont and influence the Kings of Savoy. Sometimes, I feel like the luckiest person on the planet. Added to which, I ended up staying with the nuns that evening, and they were the nicest and friendliest nuns you'll ever meet! Then I went off to eat at Albino's - which turns out to be Saluzzo's finest restaurant - and the food was consequently absolutely lovely....I mean, really really really good. And he told me all about each dish (and there seemed to be millions of them) and where the food came from and what made it a regional speciality. And since Albino was the loveliest man in creation, he ended up giving me a bottle of very good Italian red wine to go with it (Barolo something or other, for those in the know). When I INSISTED I pay, he shook his head and said you pay for everything you eat but I pay for the wine! But I feel slightly better as I told the Aussies to go there last night and I hope he's made a huge profit from them!!!
Then, I realise, I have told you nothing of the lovely Pinerolo, and the gorgeous apartment in the pretty little mediaeval town (not the only thing gorgeous in that mediaeval town, may I tell you girls...). That was really interesting (!) as the family - who were really welcoming - turned out to be protestants (I think, originating in the Waldensians - proto-protestants of mediaeval times). Torre Pelice, just up the road, is an important Protestant sanctuary in the heart of the Catholic north. Honestly.....can I talk about fate again without risking boring you all to tears??
Sorry its been a bit of a chaotic post - very tired after my hot and bothered day.I am now off to worship at the Sanctuary of the Golden Arches....yes, McDonalds is across the road, and I really can't be bothered with a sit down meal before I collapse. Apologies to all Italians or food lovers. But I have been eating like a Princess for days now. (On this subject, before I go - Italian tomatoes....I have never tasted any tomatoes as good as these. Plus their peaches....infact, all their fruit tastes of....fruit....Now I must go before I start sounding like bloody Rick Stein!
Vx
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