Walking in the footsteps of family . . . Florence!


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Europe » Italy » Tuscany » Florence
January 11th 2009
Published: January 11th 2009
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(December 21st - 23rd) Ah Firenze! There’s something very comforting about being in a city you know your family just passed through. Back in October my Mom and sister were in Florence right before they came to visit Brian and myself in Galway. They stayed in the same hotel (Hotel Bretagna, right across the hall), visited the same sights, ate the same food, and drank the same wine. There was one point last night when I was on the phone with my sister and I realized she had been standing exactly where I was only 2 months before. I know it may not seem that amazing, but when you’ve been away from home for as long as we have, its comforting to know that maybe a little bit of their energy is left there for you. The funny thing is that the summer prior to our trip my Significant Other Mother, Margaret, was also here in Florence and stayed in the Bretagna just the same. Before that it was myself, my Mom, and Cheryl here on our Italian holiday. And even before that it was my Mom and one of her best friends Elena actually living at the Bretagna as they studied in Florence during college. So the Bretagna definitely holds a special significance for me, and I’m sure the memories and laughter of my family are still within its walls (Cheesy, yes . . . but definitely heartfelt.)

When we first arrived in Florence, we had to walk several blocks to find the hotel. Along this journey we heard some odd high-pitched noises and the fast-paced beating of wings. We realized that right beside the church we were passing were three trees with hundreds of moving brown spots fluttering about in their branches. As I commented to Brian that that was the most birds I’d ever seen gathered in one tree, Brian turned and slyly smiled back, “Those aren’t birds . . . those are bats!” Hundreds and hundreds of bats were flying in and out of their gathering place right outside the front of the church and squealing their song into the night sky. Good thing I have no weird leftover childhood fear of vampires or this would have been a truly terrifying situation . . . a truly terrifying situation. Ok moving on.

I tried to explain to Brian before the trip the difference between the three cities we would be visiting in The Motherland. The best I could come up with was that Venice is the beauty, Florence is the art, and Rome is the history. Seeing all three gives you a pretty clear picture of what city-life was and is like. I still have to make it out to the countryside and one of these years I will make it for Nicki and Sean’s annual grape stomping, I promise, so that I will have truly experienced all The Motherland and its culture has to offer. So since Florence was the heart of the Renaissance, the art is abounding. The buildings are pieces of art in and among themselves as well as the many many sculptures in open forums around the city. Boticelli, Da Vinci, Michelangelo all contributed to the beauty of this city by sculpting every archway, painting every corner, and decorating every church and major building so that they would live on through their art post-mortem. You can’t help but run directly into art as you roam the city whether it be the Duomo with its massive brick-red dome reaching up to the heavens, the Ponte Vecchio bridge itself with its multi-story shops lining either side of the bridge, or the numerous art galleries housing classics such as “The Birth of Venus” and nameless paintings soon to be discovered.

My favorite piece of art in Florence, as I’m sure many of you may have guessed, is Michelangelo’s David. To see it in person is unlike any photo or recreation you’ve ever seen. It is daunting. Not only is it massive, but the attention to detail is unreal; every little curve, every vein, every muscle, it’s truly astounding. By far the most compelling feature is his eyes. There is something about them that is captivating and draws you in as if that massive piece of marble knew something, some amazing secret, some beautiful reality about life, and by gazing into them you would be let in, even for a just moment, a brief escape from reality and pure moment of clarity. Beautiful, just beautiful.

My second favorite piece of art in Florence is another carving done by Michelangelo in the Palazzo della Signoria right next to the replica of the David statue. Most people don’t even notice it, I wouldn’t have either if Mom hadn’t pointed it out when we were there together. The story goes that Michelangelo and Da Vinci were fighting over who was the better artist. To prove his worth, Michelangelo put his hands behind his back and without turning around to check his work, carved the face of Ghiberti into the stone wall. The carving is still there, but like I said, hundreds of tourists just walk past to take photos with David’s stunt double.

In Ireland, Brian had watched a program about a hidden Da Vinci painting behind the wall in the Palazzo Vecchio. Apparently there is a suspicious cavity behind the council room's east wall that leads experts to believe Da Vinci’s long-lost "Battle of Anghiari," allegedly his best work, is hidden there. Currently there is a painting by Vasari where the missing painting should be, but Vasari left a clue as to the location of Da Vinci’s “Battle of Anghiari.” On a tiny green flag in his painting, he wrote, “Cerca, trova,” which translates to “seek and you shall find.” According to Vasari as he stated in his 1550 book, Da Vinci abandoned the battle scene because of problems with his experimental mixing of oil paint and fresco. Ten years after Vasari’s book, he was given the job of modifying the council room into the Salone dei Cinquecento, a hall that glorified the ruling Medici family. In the process of this work, Leonardo's mural disappeared. So of course, Brian and I went hunting for the tiny green flag in the mural on the east wall of the council room. At first, with no map of the Palazzo Vecchio and no compass in hand, we couldn’t find the council room, nor anything in the easterly direction. An exceptionally kind museum guard guided us to the spot we first guessed and gave us the whole story in full detail. He told us the green flag wasn’t visible unless you were up against the painting with a magnifying glass at the top right corner, and that the only way to view the Da Vinci painting was with a laser scanners, x-ray machine, a thermographic, or radar equipment. Having neither a ladder nor a magnifying glass and none of the necessary technological equipment, we gave up. You would have been proud Mom, I made sure to tell the museum guard he was “molto gentile” before we left.

While we walked around the rest of the Palazzo Vecchio, Brian discovered a group of Italian nuns and was determined to take a picture with them. Feeling too awkward about asking them directly, Brian continued to follow them closely as they walked around looking at all of the art hoping for me to catch and capture a brief moment with them all together. The problem was that every time Brian tried to pose with them before they turned around, two things would happen: 1) I would start laughing hysterically, lower the camera, and miss the moment. 2) The camera would make its one tiny little noise that I can’t seem to figure out how to turn off, and that singular little “beep” would alert the nuns who would then dart around in my direction accusingly while Brian tried to quickly scoot away before they noticed his dangerous proximity. This continued from room to room before we officially gave up. We did get one photo where it looks like Brian is beating the nuns into heaven as they’re all walking (and Brian is running) up the stairs into the light.

Speaking of running (Mrs. Brown told me you always needed a segway, I know that was a lame one, but it was a segway none the less). Ok, so speaking of running, the last story about Florence involves Brian and his incredible determination to find me a Christmas present as he ran around the streets of Florence for four hours. Leaving me with nothing but a kiss and the promise to return, Brian was off. Having no idea what his intention was or when he might possibly return, I waited patiently, curiously, and hungrily (four hours is a long time when you haven’t had dinner.) At the point where I was deciding which of my fingers and toes was the most expendable for consumption, Brian poked his head in the door and declared, “We’re having Christmas now, I’ll be back in a minute.” I feverishly prepared the room with the few gifts I was willing to part with before the actual date, and put a picture of a Christmas tree up on my laptop since we still hadn’t found one in our journeys. Brian returned with a large, very poorly wrapped (another reason I love this man, I’m a terrible wrapper for those of you who’ve ever received something not in gift-bag form) present. And there it was. Underneath the plastic bags and cellophane tape was a two and a half foot tall Christmas tree, with lights to match! Brian had run around Florence ensuring that the two of us had a little piece of home when we were so far away from it.




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