Tuesday, June 29, 2010

7-12-09

And here's a poem I wrote -

The clouds in the sky
were drifting by
like quiet giants
stepping deftly over pastures green.


First full day in Cortona! And what a town it is! For one, it sits up on a hill overlooking all of Tuscany. We walked to the top, and from there we caught a glimpse of a thousand acres of vineyards dotted with towns and yellow Sunflowers.

This morning we got up early. My dad went for a run, and I wrote. When he got back we had breakfast, got ready for the day and went for a walk. We walked to the church atop the hill, but were shooed away by a troop of flustered nuns who said "our knees weren't covered, so we couldn't come in." (Well, in so many words, they mostly pointed at our uncovered knees and yelled 'Diavolo! Diavolo!' which is 'come back later' in Italian, I think.) So instead we walked around the outside and then up to a fortress that lay on the very top of the hill. We spoke of its fortifications. I said it was genius placement because you could see your enemy from miles away, and if you ever were attacked, it would be difficult for them to storm such a steep hill. Just below the fortress lay three giant sandstones that were perfect seats to rest on during the heat of the day. While sitting on these stones I noticed a clear blue lake in the distance. Its shimmering blue waters reminded me of Suttle Lake in Central Oregon.

We descended to the church again. Sunday Mass was starting, and as we walked down the main road old women hunched over the wheels of their tiny Eurocars rambled past us on their way to church. We saw families, single women, men, fathers and sons, grandpas and grandmas all heading up the hill on their way to Mass. I pitied them and admired them for their brazen belief in God. How easy it must be for them to sleep at night thinking there is someone watching over them. Someone who really cares for their well being, hoho!

Farther down the hill we came to a turnoff where we saw a sign for "La Pisina", (which is pool in Italian). We took it and stumbled upon an oasis in the hills. Where we stood, which was on the backside of Cortona, was perched a pool, tennis court, soccer or 'futbol' field, and a restaurant! All overlooking the beautiful Tuscan valley! 'This must be paradise,' I thought to myself as I surveyed the scene. My dad ordered two waters and we sat on the terrace soaking in the warm summer breezes. I watched in awe as the lifeguard went about his job, which I learned was anything but. He would stand at the pool for 20 seconds, then he'd walk to the restaurant and talk to a chef or waitress, then he'd grab a cigarette from behind the bar and while smoking he'd adjust his skimpy speedo onesy. After, he'd loaf back to the pool and begin the process again. And I thought our jobs were easy!

After finishing my dad made an exit to look around the restaurant, and I went to the bar to talk to the cute girl mixing drinks. She took my empty bottle with a "Grazie" and a sweet smile and I about lost it. It's not many times in a boys life when he is confronted with absolute beauty. The type of beauty that is a byproduct of eating olive oil and fresh basil for the bulk of one's life. She was wearing a loose fitting white tanktop and her eyes were almond colored, same as her sunkissed skin. Her name is Lisa (pronounced Liza) from Cortona, whose been to Los Angeles and New York and enjoys reading Romance novels. Ah Liza, how beautiful.

We walked back to town via a goat trail carved into the hillside. When we got back to our villa we had a helping of Prochutto salad on toasted bagettes with beer. We talked about who'd we invite to a dinner party if we could invite anyone. I said Bukowski, Franklin, Groucho, Allen, Kurosawa, Pryor, Orwell and Thompson. My dad came up with Jesus, Bill Gates, Churchill, Jefferson and Morrison. After, we were drained and had to sleep. When we awoke Charlie, Victoria, Cameron, Ashley (next door neighbors from long ago) and their friend Leisha had arrived from Rome. And what better way to celebrate than to head into town and drink? So we did.

We stopped at a local bar, the adults (my dad, Charlie, Victoria, Leisha) went to sit at one table, and Cameron (a year older than yours truly), his sister Ashley (my sister's age) and I went to sit at another table. We ordered a round of drinks, Cameron a 'Sex on the Beach' (we gave him soo much crap for that), Ashley a beer (my kind of girl), and me a 'White Russian' (because 'The Dude abides.") We sucked those down and ordered something a bit stronger so we went with the "Harvey Wallbanger*." (*just for clarification, a Harvey Wallbanger is called such because after a few, don't be surprised if you are banging against a wall and introducing yourself as "Harvey, from accounting!") They brought the Harveys with finger-food, hoping that a few watercress crackers would offset the massive amount of alcohol being dumped into our system. The Bangers went down a bit more slowly, and after I had a pretty good buzz. I remember Cam saying, "Hey lets get another drink! One we've never had before!" I nodded in approval and said, "Pick one!" He chose one called "Horses Neck", which turned out to be whiskey and lemon with ice. Cam hates whiskey, but we drank those and ate finger sandwiches and felt very European.

Afterwards, we made our way to dinner. We ate like kings, slopping up the excess alfredo with slices of fresh Italian baguettes and downing more beer. Just as our dinner was ending, a festival began in the square below us. We sat watching the flag throwers and dancers twirl and shake while listening to the folk band churning out traditional Tuscan dance songs. It was the perfect ending to our first day in Cortona!

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

7-11-09

Today was fantastic! First, my dad and I traveled to the top of the Duomo (a cathedral in Florence famous for its gargantuan renaissance dome). I gazed out across the vast city where the streets were veins and arteries carrying cars and trucks and people, then up to the hillside where I saw sprawling villas with vineyards cozily tucked into the rocky facade. Looking at the buildings, I noticed the verandas that were like little oases high above the chaos of the streets. I noticed an outdoor market just a few streets from the Duomo, so we bid farewell to the breathtaking views and plunged into the dusky gloom of the cathedral.

Now I've got to hand it to Renaissance painters. They really knew how to decorate the inside of a cathedral dome, and the Duomo is no exception. The mural depicts man's existence on earth as well as life in heaven and in hell. The hierarchy went something like this: Satan and his minions were on the bottom level (closest to the ground), then came humans and their miserable life on Earth, then the guardian angels, the saints, and finally Jesus and God. Being a stone-cold atheist, even I was taken back by its beauty. I stopped to think, "Wait. Maybe?" but quickly shrugged off the thought with a, "Naaaahh", which echoed throughout the entire cathedral.

After emerging from the eerie dimness of the Duomo, my dad and I began wandering the streets looking for the outdoor market. We found it crammed into an alley between two traffic heavy streets. Having nothing better to do, we idly stared at the souvenirs, which seemed so similar to the knickknacks found at the Saturday Market in Portland. When we passed by the vendors, they would rush up to us with fine leather and shout, "Almost free! Almost free!" However, since this was the only English they spoke, it proved difficult to barter with them. We became bored of this frequent bombardment and left to find more exciting things.

We stopped at a small restaurant for a lunch of wine and prosciutto salad, which is toasted bread topped with tomatoes, mozzarella and herbs drizzled with olive oil and vinaigrette (a favorite of mine). We sat there talking about this and that, slowly getting drunk and feeling very European when I had an idea for a story.

It's about a workaholic father and his twenty-something year-old son, who take a trip to Italy, (sound familiar?). The father is a practicing lawyer and is recently divorced. The divorce from his wife has made him realize he's missed much of his sons life and wants to make up for lost time. While in Italy they meet a mother and her twenty-something year-old daughter who are traveling in Italy as a celebration for her daughters graduation from law school. The mother is also recently divorced, so her and the father have an instant connection. The son and daughter find each other attractive, so they hit it off as well. Everything is fine for a while, the father courts the mother, the son makes passes at the daughter, until things start to intertwine. Turns out the mother is a cougar who finds the son to be irresistible. And the daughter has a thing for successful older men (aka the father). It'd make for a wonderful Woody Allen film about love and loss and love again in the romantic cities of Italy, all it needs is a juicy ending.

All too soon it was time to leave our quaint Italian restaurant, and make our way to the Academia to see the David! We entered the Academia happy to be out of the scorching heat of the afternoon. First we saw the Evangelist artwork with its depictions of chastity and paintings of the Virgin Mary. Then we walked through the museum of classical instruments where we saw a few harpsichords along with the first flutes, clarinets, trombones and six string guitars. After that we stared at the collection of Michelangelo's Prisoners. Then finally we saw Him. The David. The head honcho. The cue de gras of anatomically correct statues. He stood in his heroic poise, gazing out to some distant point, as we marveled at his massive brilliance. To think Michelangelo carved this out of stone freehand is mind-blowing! Moving on from one genius to the next we found a room filled with Botticelli's sculptures. The one that caught my eye was his chiseling of Zeus's head. Rumor has it that Goethe liked the statue so much, he bought a casting and placed it at the foot of his bed. He says it inspired him to write, and if it wasn't for Botticelli he may never have become the man we know him as.

After Academia it was time to head to Cortona. So we packed the car and made a high-speed burn down the A1 stopping only for the tollbooths.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

7-10-09

Sorry I haven't been posting lately. Term finals are eating my soul, and my Russian Literature final paper will be the death of me. So, to remain somewhat sane, I decided to post yet another record from my Notes for your enjoyment. Let the madness continue...

We finally made it to Florence! The plane ride has thoroughly botched my reliable perception of time - Is today the 10th? Or has the plane ride sent us back in time to the 9th? Who knows... And so if you are now as confused as I am we can continue the story. Getting to Florence was interesting. It all started in Portland when they told us we had to pick up our boarding passes for the flight to Italy in Amsterdam. Upon hearing this, my dad and I exchanged skeptical glances knowing exactly what that meant. We pleaded with the attendant to try once more, and she said that because it was a different airline it was impossible to retrieve the boarding passes. We would have to get them in Amsterdam. As we walked away from the desk, my dad said, "Ah hell, let's go on an adventure!" And that is exactly what we did.

Upon arriving at the Amsterdam airport we stopped at the list for departures. The readout listed our flight to Florence as canceled. Having our worst nightmare come to fruition, we made our way to the ticket booth. Behind the desk sat a portly Dutch woman who told us our flight to Florence had been canceled. "Well DUH!" I remember thinking, "If that's all we wanted to know, we'd still be sitting in front of the departure listings. We need a solution woman!" Well, she had one. We were to take different flight to Bologna, where a transport would be waiting to take us to Florence. We said goodbye to our Dutch maiden and pressed onwards.

The flight to Bologna was pretty uneventful. I attempted to rest my weary body during the two hour flight, but chance saw to it that I didn't get a wink. Behind me sat a beautiful Dutch family whose oldest son never gave interlude to his nonstop chatter. From take-off to touchdown, his piercing voice rang in my head, violently jerking me awake. He had obviously never learned the rule "Silence is Golden", and I wasn't the one to teach him because his dad was built like Van Dam and I felt stringy from a lack of sleep.

Despite my being dog tired, the adventure continued in Bologna. As promised, a transport awaited us and 12 others (fellow refugees of the airwaves) at the airport. We were all told to stay at the baggage claim by wiry Italian woman with a clip-board, so we did. Then she left and came back with a walkie-talkie and told us to move upstairs, so we did. She then told us to wait on benches until she knew what was going on, so we did.

After a while, we were led outside to a Mercedes Mini Bus. Our luggage was loaded by the sweaty driver and we were off.

The ride was incredible! We zipped through mountains, into small cities, and out onto open fields where we saw Italian villas with vineyards.

We made it to Florence in good time. I give credit to the driver, who managed to average 90 mph while dodging cars and navigating the spindly mountain roads. He dropped us at the airport and sped off into the heat of the Italian afternoon. We watched him go, then u-turned to find ourselves outside the car rental.

Soon we found ourselves behind the wheel of an Alfa Romeo with vague instructions on how to reach our hotel. The man at the counter had outlined our route, but neglected to tell us how to get on the A1 (similar to an American Interstate). So, after three near collisions in the roundabout, we mounted the A1 with our course set for the hotel.

"The Grand Hotel" is properly named, and I recommend staying there if ever your in Florence. However, we had little time to gawk as we were hungry, so we threw the stuff in the room and went out for some lunch and a stroll. We had arrived. Walking along the cobblestone streets we saw shopkeepers smoking cigarettes, beautiful women on cell phones and street vendors selling art prints. My dad pissed off one of these vendors when he unknowingly walked on some of their prints. But who could blame him? He was engrossed with the beauty of the city and forgot where his feet fell. As we sat in a small cafe we munched Paninis and sipped beer while watching the afternoon haze settle over a bustling Florence.