3 July 1999 Monday was a pretty quiet day. I practiced in the morning, had lessons in the afternoon, then after dinner I went with Donatella for some sort of show featuring an African artist. We drove to the part of town where the Accademia is, wandered through dark streets to find the address where the show was to be; when we finally got there, it was locked up. Apparently, according to the sign taped to the door, the performance had already started, and si prega di non suonare--"please do not ring (the bell)". I wasn't surprised; Donatella always runs 15-20 minutes late wherever she goes. So she took me over to the nearby Ospedale degli Innocenti, designed by Brunelleschi, bought me a gelato, then we went back home.
Tuesday night, while the men in the family (Donatella and Sergio have two grown sons) went to a jazz concert, we women attended a concert at Santo Spirito. It was a baroque group with small chorus performing a Mexican Mass and other pieces. It was a good concert; the male singers were better than the women, and I enjoyed the music itself, but the church was much too vast and live for this intimate style, and much of it got drowned in the acoustics. The church alone, however, was worth the ticket--it's the last masterpiece of Brunelleschi, awe-inspiring in its perfect symmetry. After the concert, Donatella took me around to look at the many paintings, explaining the various styles and techniques.
I didn't take this picture; that's why it's so clear!
By this time, I was beginning to feel really tired--either I never really got over my jet lag, or I'm just getting old. Or maybe it was that we always did our daily lesson in one 3-hour chunk instead of dividing it between morning and afternoon, the way Delia and I did in Lucca. Then again, maybe it was the Bertini's phone, which never seems to stop ringing. When it isn't someone calling the house, it's Donatella making calls. I truly mean it with all my heart when I say that I have never seen a person use the phone as much as she does. Even during meals, the cordless is always on the table and it never goes unused through the course of the meal. My 3-hour lesson is inevitably interrupted an average of 4 times by the ringing of the telephone, and they never let the machine pick up as long as someone is home. Or there'd be other kinds of interruptions; a visit from a family member, or something. It's exhausting, all the busyness. And I'm just a spectator!
Wednesday, Donatella had to go to a dinner at the contemporary art museum in nearby Prato, and I went along so that she could show me the town beforehand. Prato is a very industrial, factory-driven town, but it has a charming, albeit tiny, centro. I really don't remember much of it; maybe I was being shown too many churches in too few days; I get them all confused. But I guess if I really don't remember the details of Prato, then it wasn't all that thrilling. One thing I do recall: as we drove through the old walls into the centro I saw the words "Americani assassini" spray-painted in very large black letters next to the gate. Nice.
We got to the museum by 7.00, which was when Donatella was told the affair would begin. Before the dinner, there was to be a presentation of a work newly acquired by the museum. Well, the presentation didn't start till after 9; stand-up appetizers and cocktails began at about 9.30, and the first course was served at around 10, by which time I was starving, tired, and bored.
I'm still in that phase of learning a language where, in order to understand and follow an ongoing conversation, I really have to hang on every word with my utmost concentration. But at the end of the day when my brain is tired, I just can't concentrate anymore; I just can't listen. So I just wind up sitting there, letting my mind wander where it will.
Thursday morning was spent seeing more of Florence. On our way to the Palazzo Vecchio, Donatella would point out certain buildings to me and explain the architecture and the history. She really is very knowledgeable. We went into Orsanmichele, which again, I don't really remember. I'm sorry, but unless it's the Sistine Chapel, after 3 or 4 days of churches they all start to look alike. However, I do remember the Palazzo Vecchio. When I walked into the Salone dei 500, I literally had the breath knocked out of me by the sheer scale and grandeur of it, and Donatella had to nudge me because the lady wanted my ticket.
We went into all the rooms, enjoyed the view from the loggia, then climbed all the way up to the merli. I got a bird's eye view (which is why they call them merli, I guess!) of the Uffizi, and took a picture by setting my camera in one of the small gunholes, or whatever those holes are.
The Uffizi, seen from the top of Palazzo Vecchio
It was a diverting morning, but very hot, and after a satisfying lunch I took a rare nap. Some friends of the Bertinis came for dinner, a very nice couple, antique dealers. I managed to converse with a bit more spontaneity; and of course, Donatella asked me to dargli un piccolo concerto (give them a little concert).
Friday morning, I had my last lesson, then after lunch to San Miniato--and there is found the absolute best view of Florence. The view you always see on postcards. It was unfortunately a hazy afternoon, but Brunelleschi's dome still loomed serenely through it. We went also to the nearby fort, which didn't thrill me; plus which, it's been sadly neglected since Donatella was there a year ago. Weeds ran rampant, everything was scraggly and unkempt. But the drive to it from San Miniato was lovely.
We went straight from the fort to her friend Carla's house, very close to the Bertini's, for it turned out that one of our ADs [assistant directors] from HGO--Sharyn--just arrived to do the same language program with Carla. With her came one of her school friends, Katie, who now lives in Vienna, and also a friend of Katie's, Matt, some guy from New Zealand. Katie is a singer, and as there was a piano (which was a good half-step low), they of course asked us to dargli un piccolo concerto.
As Donatella and Sergio had a dinner that evening, to which they couldn't take me, and Sharyn's hosts were going to see Pelléas, Donatella invited the three giovani (youngsters) to her house to eat dinner with me and her twin sons. She prepared spaghetti for us before she and Sergio left, and there were leftovers from lunch, plus prosciutto and melon, and gelato. Perfect last dinner. The six of us were very merry around the table, Vanni and Duccio (the twins) acting as hosts and speaking to us in barely discernible English; but I was grateful that they didn't oblige us to speak Italian for that one evening. We had our gelato outside under the rose arbor, then after a while the twins left to go out somewhere, and the four of us talked till 11.30.
I had to get up at 5.00 this morning to catch my flight to Paris, so I bade Donatella and Sergio a hasty and sleepy goodbye, then got into the waiting taxi that Sergio had ordered last night. I'm afraid I didn't thank them very well; my Italian failed me at that groggy hour, and also I came dangerously close to crying. I will miss them.
FINE
(THE END)
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