....Rome!
Just.
Technically, I am staying in the smallest sovereign state in the world, the Vatican City, but they don't have an internet cafe and the Pope is too busy to loan me his computer. But I do have a room with the City itself, and a real Room with a View, too, overlooking St. Peter's. And when I say 'overlooking' I really mean, 'next door', since it is to all intents and purposes on the Piazza. I can virtually shake hands with one of the ginormous statues on the collonades, and watch the queues of ant-like tourists from my bedroom window, marvelling at just how patient us camera wielders are when it comes to staring at famous buildings (my turn tomorrow, when I try and get into the Sistine Chapel).
How did I wangle this wonderous spot, I hear you ask? Well, it is all part of Being a Pilgrim and Being Lucky. Not, I hasten to add, because this was in any way organised. Rather to my surprise, there were no flags out and no Pilgrim welcome. In fact, there wasn't a reception spot of any kind, which struck me as rather surprising, given that Rome is the No. 1 pilgrim destination in the world for Christians. But, that notwithstanding, there is nothing. Niente. Rien. I was left wandering around feeling a little flat, being treated like just another Tourist. But I suppose I am really, despite 2,500 km of cycling, so I duly went to ask in the Tourist Office. They, of course, excelled themselves in being utterly useless, so I asked a passing posse of padres. (Posses of Padres are ten a penny round here). Having thus trapped a whole load of priests into showing Christian charity, I was directed to ring on the doorbell of the Franciscans. And since that doorbell just happened to be next door to the Pope, Wabbit and I will wake tomorrow to the bells of St. Peter's. (I know that Il Padre was looking forward to an audience with Wabbit, but unfortunately, we have arrived a day too late for that. Can't win them all, Benedict.)
Just as I was feeling rather pleased with this good fortune, another Funny Thing Happened On The Way to the Forum. (Actually, it was on the way to the Basilica, but I have been waiting about 2,000 km to say that!!). You know I mentioned those long serpentine queues, reaching half way around St. Peter's Piazza? Well, it seems that Being a Pilgrim has other advantages, if you are a girlie pilgrim and don't mind batting your eyelashes at the Swiss Guard. (Not an onerous task, I can tell you. At least, not given the Swiss Guard I got to bat my eyelashes at).
It happened thus: After being told that the Priest who could give me a Testimonial for completing the Via Francigena was away, the man in the TO suggested I go to the Sacristy. Since the Sacristy was in the church, this involved queuing. A lot. As I have the patience of a gnat when it comes to queues, I think I must have looked rather disappointed. Thus, showing a peculiar interest in doing his job, the man from the TO suggested asking the Swiss Guard, the elite force of the Vatican City army. So I did. And, my he was handsome that Swiss Guard. (And one has to be extremely handsome to look handsome in the red, green and gold stripes, puff ball skirt and funny hat, I can tell you. )
Anyhow, having lifted the barricade and escorted me up the stairs, (much to my delight and the consternation of the assembled hoards of queuing tourists), the Swiss Guard saluted me (I kid you not) and told me to come back if I needed anything. ('Anything at all', in fact, he reiterated) As a result I spent much of the time when I should have been awed by the majesty of St. Peter's interior having rather secular thoughts about just what kind of anything at all I dare ask for....
Even then, the pleasures didn't cease as preferential treatment was heaped on preferential treatment (and we all know there is no pleasure more uncharitable nor pleasurable than getting in ahead of a lots of Americans and Germans). When the assembled hoards were accosting the poor man from the Sacristy to bless their water, waiting dutifully behind the red cordon, I was ushered in, much to the surprise and envy of the multitude, merely to get a stamp on my Pilgrim Card. I have to come back tomorrow for the Testimonial, but I am not complaining if it means I get chatted up by the Delta Force of God and Switzerland.
But, seriously now. St. Peter's. It's quite big, you know. (Although I understand there is somewhere in the Ivory Coast, of all places, even bigger.) But...oh, I know I am going to upset you Italians, but it has all the atmosphere of a railway station. It is vast and wide, but it doesn't have warmth or any kind of spirituality. The building didn't move me so much as impress me. I gawped dutifully at the roof and the Michaelangelo dome, but it was an shock and awe not uplifting or intimate.
In fact, of all the churchs in Italy, only Orvieto cathedral has actually moved me. The difference? Well, my friends, Orvieto is Gothic. It is known as the Gilded Lily of Italy, and looks like a cross between a wedding cake and an altarpiece. But though the outside is stunning - all white and pale pink marble interspersed with gold mosaics - it is the austere, dark and cool interior that made me gasp with its beauty. A huge soaring vault - though without embossed arches - and that lovely Gothic sense of narrow height and the strange aethereal light from stained glass windows. There is something in the dimensions of Gothic architecture that, in and of itself, lifts the soul. At least, lifts my soul.
Nevertheless, I am pleased to say that I fulfilled my promise to Father Paolo, and will write to the Bishop of Pavia, as also promised. Thus, leg 1 at least, of my journey is complete and I am contemplating what to do about the next one. This has all become rather more urgent due to the news that the army have moved into Calabria, since there has been something of a killing spree going on by the Cormora (that's the mafia). Likewise, all I meet in Italy tell me I am half insane to contemplate going alone into Sicily.
So the options are thus:
1. Go for Sicily by boat from Salerno and back again, thence to Basilicata, skipping the toe of the boot and the Comorra.
2. Skip Sicily and take the Via Appia (??) to Puglia and thence up the Adriatic coast, avoiding the worse areas of drugs and vice and gangland violence.
3. Go for the whole caboodle and risk getting shot and coming back in a black body bag.
Mmmm. I am tempted to say 'You decide', but given what you made me do last time, I shall fight the temptation.
Will let you know after chatting things over with Jen and David and no doubt changing my mind many times.
Ciao!!
Vx
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Sunday, 21 September 2008
21st Century Grand Tour
Buongiorno Tutti!
Sorry it has been so long - I have been far too busy living it up in Toscana, attempting to cram my apparently far too tiny mind full of the all the treasures this land has to offer. Suffice it to say that I have now retired from the lists, beaten to an unaesthetic pulp, bleeding from every major orifice as all the knowledge gleaned from five hours in the Uffizi Gallery tries to find itself a place to stay. (I know how it feels, as Tuscany's other surfeit is the incredible number of people it manages to cram into its lovely towns.)
Today you find me in Siena, trying but failing to stir myself to some cultural heights and instead finding the allure of the glorious scallop shaped Il Campo far to difficult to resist. This, may I say, seems to be true of most people - tourists and Sienese alike. It seems that every town activity is conducted here; reading, basking, eating (illegal unless standing up but flouted by all Italians as a mere inconvenience), pretending to revise...everything except having sex basically.I suspect the Sienese birthrate is low.
It is an interesting observation, however, that along with the Piazza Signoria in Florence, these are the first town squares where the Municipality and not the Church has (literal) centre stage. Here in Siena, the frothy pink and white marble Gothic monstrosity (yes, I did say Gothic and monstrosity in the same sentance) is a mere side show. It is even a sideshow in the artistic treasures department, since the Palazzo Pubblico - you know the one, you've all seen Francesco da Mosta, its that huge battlemented sand -coloured job with the big old tower - is the main draw here too. Inside, though it does little to show off or educate about its treasures, are some of the most magnificent and instructive allegories you'll see. Room after room of them. There is one of the first realistic pictures of a landscape in art history (a Simone Martini, I think), and a rather jolly sepia toned fight scene by some chap called Vanni. But taking the laurels is the allegory of good and bad government that the Council of the Nine (sounds like something from the Lord of the Rings, but it was in fact the Nine Lords who used to run Siena) commissioned from some chap I've never heard of to remind them of how to behave. As a consequence, even despite the depredations of the dasdardly Florentines, Siena had its high point under their benevolent (ha!) rule
But lovely though Siena is, it is a mere sideshow compared to Florence, which is just bursting at the seams with Great Art. One afternoon I saw the greatest sculpture gallery in Italy. The next, the greatest gallery (some say) on earth. Lazing in the above mentioned Piazza Signoria, I sat in a Loggia beside great Roman artworks which would make the British Museum pale. And as I did so, I looked on not just one gigantic sculpture, but three, one of which was David, by Michaelangelo. Only the Greatest Sculpture on teh Planet.
Actually, it turned out that I was looking on a copy of David, since the Italians have a nasty habit of ripping out these great works and bunging them in a gallery. The generous would say this is for restoration and conservation purposes. I am beginning to think it is more mercenary than that. I don't understand why one needs to remove an altarpiece from a cathedral and put it in another bit of the cathedral called the Museo dell'Opera next door, unless it is to collect all the good stuff that is transportable and charge another 7 euros for us sorry punters to see the real thing.
Anyway, that minor grouch aside, I have a confession to make. I have to make it Sotto Voce, since if any Italian hears me I might be taken out and shot. You know that chap Michaelangelo Buonarotti? The best sculptor / painter / artist that has ever lived? Well, I kind of don't like his stuff much. The stuff I do like tends to be unfinished. I think this makes me a complete philistine and if I admitted this out loud, I would be extradicted or something.
The truth is I found MA's David a bit, well, camp. All I could think of when I saw him posing in front of the Palazzo Vecchio is the great Neo Renaissance Man, Dr Jonathan Millar's assessment of him - 'He looks like a rent boy trying to pick up a trick'. And you know, knee bent and looking slightly off centre, he really really does. His head is too big for his body too. That said, I didn't get to see the original at the Galleria dell'Academia (note not the greatest sculpture gallery in Italy but another in the same town...see what I mean. I think these blighters spread their stuff around deliberately...that or they have so much that they can't fit it all in the same place....).
Anyway, when it came to it, after two days of queues and pre-booking my Uffizi marathon, I simply couldn't bear the thought of another life time spent with Japanese, Russian and Chinese tourists. So I sloped off instead to some other church - Santa Maria Novella or something, - where they only had Masaccio's Trinity, the first use of scientific perspective in art, on the wall. Oh, and a crucifix by the great Giotto, who prefigured empiral perspective and thus the Italian Renaissance. Oh, and a whole heap of stunning frescoes by various of the world's greatest ever artists...Ghirlandaio, Vasari, Lippi...so consequently, no one else was there.
I have another confession to make, too, which probably makes me not only a philistine, but a totally hopeless case - I'm not that keen on Leonardo da Vinci. I know, I know. I'm expecting the Holy Roman Inquisition to arrive any moment. But every thing I've seen by him reinforces my opinion that he was a better sketcher than a painter, and its his unfinished works that boggle the mind.
So, I hear you asking, who in this crowd of genii (??? geniuses - I am becoming illiterate!!) did impress me amongst the 40 odd rooms of the Uffizi and the myriad more in the Bargello? Well, it is sculpture that has stolen my heart along with the frescoes - Donatello is rather marvellous, and his David is strangely appealing, despite the fact it was lying face down on a box being restored when I came in. Giambologna's colossal Neptune in the Piazza Signoria also has a strangely compelling quality - if only from its sheer size. But the thing that really captivated me and still holds me captive, was Cellini's bronze 'Perseo'. I'm not kidding, despite the fact that it is quite literally standing amongst the great works of Antiquity and the Renaissance in the Loggia beside the Palazzo Vecchio, you can't quite take your eyes off it. Even David and Neptune seem to be looking over, wondering who this young upstart in bronze is across the square. It is simply magnificent, full of movement and energy and a kind of Loki-ish mercurial and dangerous quality. The musculature on the back is astonishing and the grace and refinement of movement and balance makes this over-life size hunk of metal seem light. I know Cellini had a high opinion of himself, so he'd no doubt agree with my assessment, but honestly, if someone offered, that would be the piece I would take home.
I've just realised that in amongst all this, I haven't even mentioned Sandro Botticelli. Yes, his Venus and Primavera are as good as they look...but, oh, I could go on all day in this artistic name dropping, because the Uffizi storerooms make the National Gallery look crap. By the time I reached Raphael - he's somewhere around room 25, I honestly could hardly have cared less. The man himself could have been standing, giving an explanation of his paintings and I would probably have gone and had a cup of tea. When Caravaggio arrived at the very end of the expedition - I mean, exhibition - I literally whizzed by going, 'oh, yeah, they are quite good'. I felt a bit like Steve Martin in LA Story, when he rollerskates around the art gallery.
You'll no doubt be glad to hear, however, that it hasn't all been Grand Touring - a couple of days ago I was in Chiantishire. I hate to admit it, because I know the Blairs like it, but it really is very beautiful. It is another one of these places that feel like souped up England; England as it never was but ought to have been. Wooded ridges and rosehips in the hedgerows; bird song and tranquility. Of course, the English idyll idea only last as far as the huge villas, avenues of cypresses and olive groves. Then there are the long rows of vines, the Iron Giant of Chianti Classico, but not as neat and ordered as in Champagne. Nor in the patterned tesselations of Montferrato and Langhe. Instead, they are mixed with woodland and olives and the mountains are much bigger, so it isn't a monoculture. Consequently, I liked it much better, and could have cycled through it for hours. Well, I did cycle through it for hours, but given it was pouring with rain for half of it, I decided to cut it short and come here.
So there we are - caught up at last ! What a relief! I have been feeling guilty, living it large without letting anyone know. But I should perhaps also confess the other reason for my not writing, and that is I have been thinking of coming home. Until I hit Florence, and despite the loveliness that was Lucca, Italy had, I'm afraid, been driving me mad. It isn't the big stuff, but the little stuff that matters. Stuff like maps labelling places and marking roads. The fact that despite the fact the map tells you you're in the country, there are enough cars to fill a French motorway. The fact that Italian villages seem to spread outwards to meet one another in a series of Tam Oil stations and out of town crap. And that plastic bottles are a new species of hedgerow plant in many places and everywhere looks like it needs a good wash. Add to this the general rubbishness (that is the polite way of saying it) of the Tourist Offices and the fact they are never signposted and are located in the most illogical part of town (usually outside the main drag in some dreary suburb except in the biggest of tourist towns). Factor in the fact that finding them at all outisde said huge attraction and that they are apparently never open is another draw back. Plus their habit of closing on Mondays. Or every day that is not the weekend. Oh, and the fact that they don't know of one another's existence, so that I am always cycling 'blind', and you have the recipe for a very stressful holiday. But Florence and Tuscany have renewed my faith in that this is worth it, and hence I shall carry on for the moment. But, honestly, in Pisa I reallly had my moments of thinking of booking a flight home. And if the Torre Pendente can't stir your inspiration, surely something is wrong????
More anon. Things do seem to be getting better. Or maybe I am getting more tolerant of our exasperating Italian bretheren.
Vx
Sorry it has been so long - I have been far too busy living it up in Toscana, attempting to cram my apparently far too tiny mind full of the all the treasures this land has to offer. Suffice it to say that I have now retired from the lists, beaten to an unaesthetic pulp, bleeding from every major orifice as all the knowledge gleaned from five hours in the Uffizi Gallery tries to find itself a place to stay. (I know how it feels, as Tuscany's other surfeit is the incredible number of people it manages to cram into its lovely towns.)
Today you find me in Siena, trying but failing to stir myself to some cultural heights and instead finding the allure of the glorious scallop shaped Il Campo far to difficult to resist. This, may I say, seems to be true of most people - tourists and Sienese alike. It seems that every town activity is conducted here; reading, basking, eating (illegal unless standing up but flouted by all Italians as a mere inconvenience), pretending to revise...everything except having sex basically.I suspect the Sienese birthrate is low.
It is an interesting observation, however, that along with the Piazza Signoria in Florence, these are the first town squares where the Municipality and not the Church has (literal) centre stage. Here in Siena, the frothy pink and white marble Gothic monstrosity (yes, I did say Gothic and monstrosity in the same sentance) is a mere side show. It is even a sideshow in the artistic treasures department, since the Palazzo Pubblico - you know the one, you've all seen Francesco da Mosta, its that huge battlemented sand -coloured job with the big old tower - is the main draw here too. Inside, though it does little to show off or educate about its treasures, are some of the most magnificent and instructive allegories you'll see. Room after room of them. There is one of the first realistic pictures of a landscape in art history (a Simone Martini, I think), and a rather jolly sepia toned fight scene by some chap called Vanni. But taking the laurels is the allegory of good and bad government that the Council of the Nine (sounds like something from the Lord of the Rings, but it was in fact the Nine Lords who used to run Siena) commissioned from some chap I've never heard of to remind them of how to behave. As a consequence, even despite the depredations of the dasdardly Florentines, Siena had its high point under their benevolent (ha!) rule
But lovely though Siena is, it is a mere sideshow compared to Florence, which is just bursting at the seams with Great Art. One afternoon I saw the greatest sculpture gallery in Italy. The next, the greatest gallery (some say) on earth. Lazing in the above mentioned Piazza Signoria, I sat in a Loggia beside great Roman artworks which would make the British Museum pale. And as I did so, I looked on not just one gigantic sculpture, but three, one of which was David, by Michaelangelo. Only the Greatest Sculpture on teh Planet.
Actually, it turned out that I was looking on a copy of David, since the Italians have a nasty habit of ripping out these great works and bunging them in a gallery. The generous would say this is for restoration and conservation purposes. I am beginning to think it is more mercenary than that. I don't understand why one needs to remove an altarpiece from a cathedral and put it in another bit of the cathedral called the Museo dell'Opera next door, unless it is to collect all the good stuff that is transportable and charge another 7 euros for us sorry punters to see the real thing.
Anyway, that minor grouch aside, I have a confession to make. I have to make it Sotto Voce, since if any Italian hears me I might be taken out and shot. You know that chap Michaelangelo Buonarotti? The best sculptor / painter / artist that has ever lived? Well, I kind of don't like his stuff much. The stuff I do like tends to be unfinished. I think this makes me a complete philistine and if I admitted this out loud, I would be extradicted or something.
The truth is I found MA's David a bit, well, camp. All I could think of when I saw him posing in front of the Palazzo Vecchio is the great Neo Renaissance Man, Dr Jonathan Millar's assessment of him - 'He looks like a rent boy trying to pick up a trick'. And you know, knee bent and looking slightly off centre, he really really does. His head is too big for his body too. That said, I didn't get to see the original at the Galleria dell'Academia (note not the greatest sculpture gallery in Italy but another in the same town...see what I mean. I think these blighters spread their stuff around deliberately...that or they have so much that they can't fit it all in the same place....).
Anyway, when it came to it, after two days of queues and pre-booking my Uffizi marathon, I simply couldn't bear the thought of another life time spent with Japanese, Russian and Chinese tourists. So I sloped off instead to some other church - Santa Maria Novella or something, - where they only had Masaccio's Trinity, the first use of scientific perspective in art, on the wall. Oh, and a crucifix by the great Giotto, who prefigured empiral perspective and thus the Italian Renaissance. Oh, and a whole heap of stunning frescoes by various of the world's greatest ever artists...Ghirlandaio, Vasari, Lippi...so consequently, no one else was there.
I have another confession to make, too, which probably makes me not only a philistine, but a totally hopeless case - I'm not that keen on Leonardo da Vinci. I know, I know. I'm expecting the Holy Roman Inquisition to arrive any moment. But every thing I've seen by him reinforces my opinion that he was a better sketcher than a painter, and its his unfinished works that boggle the mind.
So, I hear you asking, who in this crowd of genii (??? geniuses - I am becoming illiterate!!) did impress me amongst the 40 odd rooms of the Uffizi and the myriad more in the Bargello? Well, it is sculpture that has stolen my heart along with the frescoes - Donatello is rather marvellous, and his David is strangely appealing, despite the fact it was lying face down on a box being restored when I came in. Giambologna's colossal Neptune in the Piazza Signoria also has a strangely compelling quality - if only from its sheer size. But the thing that really captivated me and still holds me captive, was Cellini's bronze 'Perseo'. I'm not kidding, despite the fact that it is quite literally standing amongst the great works of Antiquity and the Renaissance in the Loggia beside the Palazzo Vecchio, you can't quite take your eyes off it. Even David and Neptune seem to be looking over, wondering who this young upstart in bronze is across the square. It is simply magnificent, full of movement and energy and a kind of Loki-ish mercurial and dangerous quality. The musculature on the back is astonishing and the grace and refinement of movement and balance makes this over-life size hunk of metal seem light. I know Cellini had a high opinion of himself, so he'd no doubt agree with my assessment, but honestly, if someone offered, that would be the piece I would take home.
I've just realised that in amongst all this, I haven't even mentioned Sandro Botticelli. Yes, his Venus and Primavera are as good as they look...but, oh, I could go on all day in this artistic name dropping, because the Uffizi storerooms make the National Gallery look crap. By the time I reached Raphael - he's somewhere around room 25, I honestly could hardly have cared less. The man himself could have been standing, giving an explanation of his paintings and I would probably have gone and had a cup of tea. When Caravaggio arrived at the very end of the expedition - I mean, exhibition - I literally whizzed by going, 'oh, yeah, they are quite good'. I felt a bit like Steve Martin in LA Story, when he rollerskates around the art gallery.
You'll no doubt be glad to hear, however, that it hasn't all been Grand Touring - a couple of days ago I was in Chiantishire. I hate to admit it, because I know the Blairs like it, but it really is very beautiful. It is another one of these places that feel like souped up England; England as it never was but ought to have been. Wooded ridges and rosehips in the hedgerows; bird song and tranquility. Of course, the English idyll idea only last as far as the huge villas, avenues of cypresses and olive groves. Then there are the long rows of vines, the Iron Giant of Chianti Classico, but not as neat and ordered as in Champagne. Nor in the patterned tesselations of Montferrato and Langhe. Instead, they are mixed with woodland and olives and the mountains are much bigger, so it isn't a monoculture. Consequently, I liked it much better, and could have cycled through it for hours. Well, I did cycle through it for hours, but given it was pouring with rain for half of it, I decided to cut it short and come here.
So there we are - caught up at last ! What a relief! I have been feeling guilty, living it large without letting anyone know. But I should perhaps also confess the other reason for my not writing, and that is I have been thinking of coming home. Until I hit Florence, and despite the loveliness that was Lucca, Italy had, I'm afraid, been driving me mad. It isn't the big stuff, but the little stuff that matters. Stuff like maps labelling places and marking roads. The fact that despite the fact the map tells you you're in the country, there are enough cars to fill a French motorway. The fact that Italian villages seem to spread outwards to meet one another in a series of Tam Oil stations and out of town crap. And that plastic bottles are a new species of hedgerow plant in many places and everywhere looks like it needs a good wash. Add to this the general rubbishness (that is the polite way of saying it) of the Tourist Offices and the fact they are never signposted and are located in the most illogical part of town (usually outside the main drag in some dreary suburb except in the biggest of tourist towns). Factor in the fact that finding them at all outisde said huge attraction and that they are apparently never open is another draw back. Plus their habit of closing on Mondays. Or every day that is not the weekend. Oh, and the fact that they don't know of one another's existence, so that I am always cycling 'blind', and you have the recipe for a very stressful holiday. But Florence and Tuscany have renewed my faith in that this is worth it, and hence I shall carry on for the moment. But, honestly, in Pisa I reallly had my moments of thinking of booking a flight home. And if the Torre Pendente can't stir your inspiration, surely something is wrong????
More anon. Things do seem to be getting better. Or maybe I am getting more tolerant of our exasperating Italian bretheren.
Vx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
