ITALY TRIP - Prepare to meet thy sushi.

Just when we were setting off on our Italy trip, Nigel suggested I buy something nice for lunch on the train.

I bought sushi.

But due to the palaver of packing, it never made it into the rucksack.

At times during the holiday, one of the offspring would ask me why I was looking thoughtful.

I was contemplating the sushi waiting for us in the fridge.  This dish whose essence was freshness would be three weeks old when we got home.

But I would not tell them of this dark secret.  It was not a pleasant image on which to dwell.

Instead: “Oh, I was just considering what memories I would take home from the holiday.”

And now that I’m on my way home, I know that the things I hope to treasure are the honeyed scents of jasmine and lime flowers; the shrill, excited call of swifts barrelling around an ancient square in Ravenna; the taste of truffles at il Pozzo; the sight of a thousand alpine flowers on the Giro del Diabolo footpath at San Pellegrino and the Giotto frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel.

And together, they are very nearly beautiful enough to drive out the prospect of the three-week-old sushi in the fridge.

But not quite.

ITALY TRIP - All's Well that doesn't End Well

At the Basilica San Antonio, people were queuing up just to touch the side of Saint Anthony's tomb.  There in a special chapel, displayed in jewelled glass cases were his preserved tongue and the cartilage from his larynx.

St Anthony is the patron saint of lost things so I may have appealed to him myself on the odd occasion, but this reverence for earthly remains is foreign to me.

A no-entry sign ensuring that people approach the tomb of St Anthony from the correct direction.

Then we went next door to the Oratorio San Giorgio and I saw something else that challenged my perspective.  The vivid fifteenth century frescoes showed the lives of St George (beheaded for his faith), St Catherine (beheaded following torture on a wheel), and St Lucia (also tortured before being stabbed to death by a madman).

Some theologians today point to Jesus as the wellspring of earthly wealth and health.  But that certainly was not the deal that early Christians were signing up to.  No doubt, anybody who took up the Christian faith was confident they would spend eternity with their God in Heaven.  However, they faced up enormously bravely to torture and death in this world.

I still find no comfort in revering the corpses of saints, but I admire utterly the courage and faith of those early martyrs.

Basilica San Antonio, left.  Oratorio San Giorgio, right.

ITALY TRIP - Eighty thousand piece jigsaw

We were in Padua and sussing the must-sees.
"There are Mantegna frescoes at the church of the Eremitani."
"Let's go."

But I'd read my guidebook too hastily.

When we arrived, the chapel with the frescoes was quite dark.

Nearby was a slot machine. Nigel inserted a euro and lights came on.  Which revealed a puzzling scene.

The pictures on the walls showed the life of St Christopher and pulled all the amazing Renaissance tricks of foreshortened anatomy and using architecture to create  perspective. However, they were mainly in black and white with colour appearing only in tiny patches which freckled the surface.

An information board explained.

The church had been bombed by the Allies in World War 2 and the sublime fresco reduced to smithereens.

Using earlier photographs conservators had applied a black and white print of the original pictures to the chapel walls and had done their best to fit in the salvaged fragments.

These were the freckles and there had been 80,000 of them.

I  remembered the concentration it had taken for our family to complete a mere 1000 piece jigsaw at Christmas.

This must have been painstaking and extraordinary work.
However the result made me sad.

Extremely incomplete, it was much more a memorial of the overwhelming destructiveness of war than a reconstruction of the fresco.

ITALY TRIP - What on earth is an Ostrogoth?

I would be lying if I said I had never heard the term 'Ostrogoth' before.

After all, I'm a Classics teacher.

Dinner beside the baptistry of the Ostrogoths

However, I kind of imagined them rather like one of the alien foes who crop up in Star Trek on a semi-regular basis. Their role in the plot is to threaten the Starship Enterprise/the Universe/the Roman Empire.

They are the kind of people that the most devoted Trekkies would have a file on. 

And maybe have invented a complete language for. 

And had plastic surgery in order to resemble. 

But then we visited Ravenna.  

In ancient times, as the city of Rome fell prey to invasions, the capital of the Western Roman Empire moved to Ravenna. 

There it remained until the whole of Italy was taken over by the Ostrogoths under king Theoderic in around 493 AD.

It turns out that Theoderic (although a barbarian, and therefore snubbed by snobbish Romans) was wise and did some good ruling.  He retained many of the institutions of the Roman Empire and promoted culture and prosperity. 

 
So what exactly is an Ostrogoth?
Just means an eastern Goth.

And I'm pretty sure they spoke Klingon.

Tomb of Theoderic

Magnificent porphyry sarcophagus of Theoderic

ITALY TRIP - Why have a peacock on your coffin?

"Why do these people have peacocks on their coffins?" asked Nigel.

In Ravenna and Pisa, there was a mass of marble sarcophagi from very early Christian times (fifth century onwards). 

Many of the symbols were familiar.
There were Alpha and Omega, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet - because Christ is the beginning and the end. 

There is the cross combined with the Greek letters chi and rho (looking like x & p).  Chi and Rho are the first two letters of Christ's name.

  

Frequent also are lambs - referring to Jesus as the sacrificial lamb who died for our sins.

Carved vines often twine round the coffins - Jesus is the true vine.  And doves - the birds of the holy spirit.

But why on earth were there so many peacocks?
They are vain birds who strut about, shrieking and rattling their tail feathers.

Surely they work better as a symbol for a certain American president than for Jesus?

"Dunno." I replied to  Nigel.  "Maybe all the eyes in their tail imply they are all-seeing; like God." But I knew I was clutching at straws.

Then Nigel did something very unfair. 

He googled it.

Apparently the flesh of the peacock was supposed never to rot. This made it a great symbol for the resurrection of the body after death.

Could also explain why it went out of fashion. 

Sooner or later a few incidents involving rotting peacock carcasses would have thrown the myth into doubt.

ITALY TRIP - The Hot Walls of Lucca

As a tourist, I'm conscientious about the "must-see"s.  

Don't want to get home and sound as if I hadn't really been to the place I claim.

So in Lucca it was a thing to walk the city walls.  

"One of the pleasures of Lucca is strolling along the ramparts - the magnificent city walls, whose tree-lined promenade offers some entrancing views of the city."

The guidebook also suggested the best time was during the midday break when shops were shut.

We set off enjoying the  astonishing wall-top boulevard lined with limes and plane trees.  It was punctuated by the beautiful works of a local sculptor, on the theme, Family Tree.  

"This is lovely."

At each turn in the way, there was a mighty bastion.  We could see down into the elegant garden of the Palazzo Pfanner - once used to film Portrait of a Lady.

"Really enjoyable."

But at 35 degrees of heat, our initial delight soon turned to grim determination to reach each next bastion.

About a quarter of the way round, I finally admitted, "You know, I'm not enjoying this!"
"Neither am I," Nigel agreed immediately.

And that was all it took for us to descend and slink off to a cafe.

And later, if somebody says, "Lucca, eh? So did you walk the walls?", we'll say, "Oh yes!"  

After all, there's no need to give a percentage of wall walked.

ITALY TRIP - Stupid, ignorant tourists

I guess I'm thinking a lot about the nature of tourism.

My friends trot out "Travel broadens the mind."

I think once upon a time, it did.
You had to ask for directions, take help where it was offered.  Accept hospitality from strangers.

But now tourism is a machine which moves the interloper through a series of well-established experiences as if they are gliding on rails.

People go on safari in Africa who have never attended an event at their local wildlife trust.
People stare at frescoes in churches who would never normally darken the doors of an art gallery.

I suppose I'd gotten snobby about all this.

But then I created the biggest tourist gaff of all.

In San Gimignano, we admired the tall towers and the Duomo.  Then we headed for the Convento di Sant' Agostino, looking forward to seeing the fifteenth century frescoes.

As we approached, some Japanese tourists turned back as if they had been refused entry.  Probably because the women were dressed in brief shorts and vest - not approved by the Catholic church.

So, smugly we entered, sat at the back and Nigel began reading from the guidebook.
Then Carenza said, "Why is that man kissing everybody?   He's not going to kiss me is he?  I don't want to kiss him."
I looked up.  A young Italian man was indeed hugging and kissing other people.

It reminded me of something.  Where had I seen behaviour like this recently?

Oh yeah.  My uncle's funeral.

I checked out the front of the church.
A coffin wreathed in flowers.
"Everybody - we're gate-crashing a funeral.  Leg it!"

We never did see the frescoes.
And we proved that, just like everybody else, we are ignorant tourists.

ITALY TRIP - Not Waving, but Driving

When we hire a car abroad, Nigel drives and my task is to sit in the passenger seat and look appreciative. Unlike the 80% of the population who consider themselves above average drivers I know I am not.

Driving on the right is way too challenging a transposition for me.

On a past family holiday to Languedoc the children were reassuring and supportive. I should try out driving on the right.  I would be fine. 

I recall that it was next to a picturesque field of sunflowers with one wheel in a ditch that I gave in to their terrified pleas to let Nigel resume the wheel.

As we stayed in the Alpi Apua national park, there were plenty of winding Alpine roads for him to show his prowess.  I am very grateful as without him I would never have seen the Cave of the Winds, the monastery of Eremi di Calomini, or San Pellegrino where the mineral water comes from (in pic).

However, one thing saddened him. After slowing to allow a lorry loaded  with timber to pass or after accomplishing a cautious dosey doe with another car in a skimpy passing place, he would raise his hand in a British salute of thanks.  But Italian drivers would make no such manual acknowledgement.

To them the only thing we were signalling was that we didn't come from round here.

This was it. My time to be appreciative.

"Don't worry about them not waving Nigel.  I'm glad you have lovely driving manners."

ITALY TRIP - Why you should not steal stalactites

Nigel and I went on without the offspring to the very north of Tuscany - Garfagnana in the Appenine Alps.

Our first stop was the Grotta del Vento (Cave of the Wind), a very beautiful cave system in the limestone mountains. 

Our guide gave the tour in Italian, but she was half Scottish and had also narrated the audio guide in a soft Scottish-Italian accent.  I was enraptured at this commentary which was not only informative, but ....poetic.

On Stealing Stalactites

Outside the cave, 

the beauty of the stalactite is ephemeral 

as, without the humidity of the caves, 

and the water-drops,

they lose their translucency, 

their colours dull, 

and they are quickly covered by moss.

The Hall of Voices

We are at the bottom of the Giant's Abyss. 

This is called the Hall of Voices. 

This is because the explorers often reported hearing voices. 

These always came from the upper part of the abyss. 

Sometimes they would even go back up a tunnel 

to see if anyone was there. 

But there was no-one.
The sound of voices was partly due to physical factors 

- the drops were made louder and prolonged 

by the roundness of the tunnels. 

But also by psychological factors. 

It is a well-known acoustic phenomenon by which
the speleologist, left alone for hours, 

waiting for his team of companions to come back 

would tend to interpret any sounds he heard 

as the words and footsteps of his companions 

because of his subconscious desire to interrupt
this difficult time of isolation.

ITALY TRIP - Surprised by Pisa!

Pisa is a legendary tourist blackspot. 

I  had heard people say "Just get in, do the monuments and get out again."

So I was not surprised when, before we had even got halfway out the car, hawkers tried to sell us knock-off sunglasses.

Not surprised when the route towards the duomo and its leaning campanile, turned out to be a boulevard made narrow by tat stalls.

Not surprised when we saw a hundred tourists being photographed by hundreds more as they each posed as if holding up the Leaning Tower.

But what did surprise me - what actually drew a Wow! from me was the beauty of the great white and grey Romanesque duomo and its baptistry.

In an act of genius it was framed by an expanse of emerald green lawn. 

It was a place of solemn grace and even the surrounding tourist hype had not managed to make it tawdry.

ITALY TRIP - How Heaven Works

At the Duomo in Siena we got the ticket that included the tour that would take us into the roof of the fabulous Gothic/Romanesque Cathedral.  Even the name of the tour was thrilling - "The Gates of Heaven".

To enter the cathedral, I wrapped a scarf around my shoulders. Others in vest tops were being stopped and forced to velcro themselves into a sort of human dust sheet to preserve their modesty in front of Jesus and his mum and Dad.

Carenza was wearing a shortish skirt and Pascoe and Perran shorts, but the focus of the cover-up operation was definitely shoulders - the custodians were not so bothered about legs.

Once inside, we barely had time to utter our over-awed Oohs and Aaahs when it was time to start our Gates of Heaven Tour. 

We marched up the spiral stair, then tip-toed along stone-bounded balconies both inside and outside the cathedral building. Outside, we spotted that the stone angels' wings were fastened to their backs with strips of bronze.  We saw how the high lantern window above the Chapel of St John the Baptist looked from outside.  And for once, we were on eye-level with the thrill-seeking swifts who patrol the architecture.

Inside the interior of the Cathedral, unremarked by those below, we traversed high, dusty marble walkways.  Nobody looked up at us.  We stared into the well of the pulpit, onto the top of the high altar.  We watched the the ant-like tourists below. 

And that was when I realised that the custodians on duty at the entrance knew exactly what they were doing. 

The reason they weren't covering up people's legs was because all God could see from above was their heads and shoulders.

ITALY TRIP The beautiful town that made me a morning person

We had been having  lie-ins and turning up sloppily late to the Tuscan towns we visited.  The car parks were full, the streets crowded and the attractions shutting for the midday break.

But the rising temperatures made us put our house in order.

We got up early and went straight to Colle di Val d' Elsa.

We drifted up the empty street, paved in limestone and bordered by towering Renaissance palaces. It felt like being in a film.

The churches were empty too - just the five of us admiring frescoes and altarpieces. We could discuss without disturbing anybody else.

I puzzled for so long over the cryptic Latin inscription on a pulpit that I broke out into a sweat and the twins laughed at me.

When we went to a cafe we were able to take the best seats under a fragrant-flowered lime tree, with a view across the valley to the duomo, patrolled by shrieking swifts.

When finally we met another couple (Dutch), I asked them to take a pic of us all together in front of the ancient city gate, and nobody got in our way.

I'm an evening person, but I think I'll be getting up early again tomorrow.

ITALY TRIP – Just the Ticket

Monteriggioni was the ideal bite-size Tuscan outing for Nigel, Pascoe and I - a small village contained within a large fortress.  We would get a ticket to walk along the top of the walls.

We calculated that for Nigel and I the ticket price would total eight euros.  We had Pascoe with us too, student card in hand.  But we couldn't tell if there would be a discount.

But in the end we were charged only 7 euros and 50 cents for all of us.

I wondered whether it was because any parents in charge of a student were assumed to need all the help they could get, financial and otherwise.

This ticket would also get us into the nearby Museum of Weaponry.

I confess that I find the topic of mediaeval weaponry seductive.  The splendid and recondite vocabulary attracts me - bombard, arquebus, enfilading ricochets.  However, I will not give in to temptation.  There are other things I need to know about more.

Also included in the ticket price was the monastery at the Abbadia Isola.  Google told us of an ancient Romanesque monastery, whose purpose had been to shelter pilgrims on their way to Rome.

After walking the walls, we drove there and entered the ancient church.

Blocking the back of the church was a wrought iron banister. Next to a gap in the barrier was a very old man.

I presented him with the Monteriggioni ticket.

He pondered it for a long time, turned it over to look at the blank reverse, shook his head and finally muttered something in Italian which sounded …sad.

Frenzied sideways glances between the three of us communicated that we realised this man was not the ticket guy.  Only thing was, he seemed not to concur and continued to grip our ticket and regard it searchingly.  The moment drew out so long that it felt like an entire performance of Waiting for Godot.

Finally, Nigel reached over and firmly reclaimed the ticket. "Grazzie" we chorused and smiled in what we hoped was a reassuring manner, but probably just looked manic.

It was only as we were leaving the monastery that we noticed, in a corner of the courtyard, a small sign to an exhibition about the area's Etruscan past.  I climbed a tight staircase and discovered that it opened out into a large, well-displayed gallery.  This was where our ticket was called for.

The exhibition was fascinating, and whereas I have resisted the arquebus, I am definitely charmed by the Etruscans.