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.

ITALY TRIP - Hoopoe

The natural world is the key to interpreting the metaphors and similes of the past.   

The images through which our ancestors understood the world were often from nature.

Around the Tuscan house we are renting, wildlife is plentiful. 

A highlight has been the hoopoe, a fabulous peach-coloured bird with full Pride crest.  From childhood they have fascinated me.  My bird book tantalised by saying they were a rare visitor to the UK. But I never saw one.

Then, on the first day of our Tuscan holiday, as Nigel, Pascoe and I entered the drive, there was one on the lawn.  It would hop to a new spot and use its long, curved beak to probe for insects.  Industriously and systematically, it did so over and again.

Good looking AND hard working.  What’s not to like?

However, the following story about a hoopoe is recorded by Ovid in Metamorphoses. King Tereus of Thrace rapes Philomela, the sister of his wife Procne.  He then cuts out her tongue so she cannot accuse him. But Procne finds out, and in revenge kills Itys (her son with Tereus), and serves him up to his father for dinner.  When Tereus recognises his son’s head on a platter, he attempts to kill Philomena and Procne.   

But the gods take pity and transform Philomela into a nightingale, Procne into a swallow and Tereus into a hoopoe – perhaps because the bird’s crest looks like a crown.

Although I am a Latin teacher, this is one time when I prefer the Persian story to the Roman.  In Persia, apparently, hoopoes were seen as a symbol of virtue and as a leader of the birds.

Now that’s the hoopoe I recognise.

ITALY TRIP - Ancient Soundscape

Living on the edge of a market town close to London, our evening soundscape is quite meagre. Rustling often turns out to be merely the neighbour watering their plants.

Police/ambulance sirens also feature.

However in a villa on a wooded hill in Tuscany we had a taste of what the soundscape could be.  Perhaps this was how it used to be in our country.

We could hear the chirring of nightjars, the staccato chirping of crickets, the distant liquid song of a nightjar. 

A tawny owl called too-wit too-woo and a fox barked. A badger rustled heavily just beyond the fence.

But the creature which completely defied identification was something which inhabited the bushes near the terrace and at regular intervals uttered a harsh “Pssst!” as if trying to attract our attention.

I did not even know whether it was a bird, reptile or mammal, so went online to research.  I was just playing a wildlife recording when Carenza happened along. (The offspring had joined us for this leg of the journey.)

“What are you doing, Mum?”

“I’m listening to recordings of Tuscan owls.”

“Oh Mum!” she said, turning on her heel. “I’ve never heard anything so middle class in my life!”

And no, I never did find out what went "Pssst".

ITALY TRIP - Run with the hare and hunt with the hounds

We spent our last morning in Ravenna at MAR, the Modern Art Museum. There  was a retrospective of the photographs of Oliviero Toscani.   He takes high quality, undeniably beautiful photos often featuring alluring models of both sexes in a state of undress.  

However, he has stopped people in their tracks with some of his work. He has managed to turn commercial advertising campaigns into social commentary.  For instance, 'United Colours of Benetton' showed jolly pics of happy tots from all races dressed in bright jumpers.

But then they got a bit in your face. His picture of a new born baby, still with its umbilical cord and red and wrinkled made the point that it was hard to know which race it came from. All new babies look the same.

Another famous example of his campaigning were shots that he released during Milan fashion week of a naked anorexic model. He was drawing attention to the way in which the fashion world drove young women to become thinner and thinner.

However, he has earned his living as a commercial photographer.  Some of his campaigns were provocative just to get a particular product noticed rather than for any social benefit, such as his picture of a young woman clad in very skimpy hot pants by Jesus Jeans with the logo “If you love me follow me.” 

Oliviero Toscani is definitely a man who has managed to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.

ITALY TRIP - Death is what happens when you're making other plans

Galla Placidia of Ravenna was a powerful Byzantine noblewoman, one of the super-rich of her day. However, in spite of that, she recognised that she was not immortal. 

She devoted time and energy to reconciling herself to the prospect of death.  Her technique was to build the most exquisite tomb. 

She commandeered a small octagonal chapel to St Lawrence in the precincts of the church of San Vitale. Inside she lined it with the most exquisite mosaics, especially of doves. The high point was the deep blue dome lined with a mass of gold stars. And so that St Lawrence would forgive her, she included his image too.

For her body to rest in she commissioned a solemn marble sarcophagus. A warm yellow light penetrated the interior through veined alabaster windows.

If anything might make you ready to meet eternity, it would be this mausoleum.

Yet the history books relate that Galla Placidia died unexpectedly while on a trip to Rome, many miles away, so her remains are unlikely ever to have rested inside.

To paraphrase John Lennon, death is what happens when you're making other plans. 

Yet arguably, the tomb still did its job.  It must have helped Galla Placidia to anticipate death with equanimity.

ITALY TRIP - Coughing during the Creation

What is it about music concerts that makes me want to cough?

We were visiting Ravenna to see the ancient churches with their fabulous mosaics, still bright and gorgeous after one and a half millennia.

It was also the Ravenna Festival.  Each night, tickets were just one euro to attend a short concert of sacred music in one of the most beautiful churches – vespers at San Vitale.

The first time we went, Dimitri Grechi Espinoza played a piece of music he had written about the Creation – Oreb.

It was written for solo sax but he had employed the extraordinary acoustic of  the church.  The magnificent resonance and echoes made the music swell to sound like a whole ensemble.

I was completely captivated.  When a couple of oafs came in late just behind us and talked, I turned and glared.

Then it happened – just when it was most important to be quiet, my throat began to rebel.  I did not even have a cold.  Just my mysterious allergic reaction to serious music.

I held onto it for as long as I could, sipped water from my crinkly plastic bottle, unwrapped the rustly cellophane from a lemon sweet.

There were tears in my eyes when finally, I had to let go one short explosive cough.

The cough reverberated around the angelic architecture and soared heavenward.  It sounded like a whole ensemble of coughers.

At the end of the performance, I took care not to turn and meet the eyes of the people I had glared at and left promptly.

However, Espinoza was performing again the next night.  There we were, back again.  But this time I was sucking a cough sweet.

Nigel outside San Vitale

ITALY TRIP - hard to leave home

I've always said "You need to live where you live."

My philosophy is to build a life that you are happy to inhabit - work which you believe to be worthwhile, community involvement that embeds you and contributes to your identity and satisfaction with life. Hobbies which develop your skills. 

Ideally, instead of fantasizing about the next holiday, one should approach it with a modicum of regret, a disruption to the life you have built up. 

That is certainly how we have felt as we approach our Italian trip this year. 

I am leaving behind my books, my enamelling gear, my thriving pot plants. Nigel is abandoning his fruit bushes where redcurrants, blackcurrants and gooseberries are all coming to maturity, his first tomatoes ripening in the greenhouse. 

Both of us hate leaving our roses in their full glory.

Yet it is our community that has come to our rescue.

A young lad from church has agreed to water our patio pots and restock our bird feeders for the dozens of finches and tits who feed there.

Carole has agreed to be foster mother to my seven orchids in full bloom.

Our neighbours have agreed to empty our mail box and in return we have asked them to help themselves to soft fruit as it ripens.

The garden will have moved on when we return, but hopefully our friends will have everything under control.