[Doing a total immersion language program can be frustrating, as nobody is allowed to speak to you in your native language, not even at social gatherings. But these gatherings are the ideal place to practice! Again, all photos were taken with a disposable camera.]
1 July 1999 Last Sunday was a proper holiday. We left midmorning and stopped first at the Convent of St Bonaventure, better known as Bosco ai Frati. There was a wedding in the chapel, but Donatella found an old guide who let us into the public part of the convent. The thing that moved me most was a crucifix by Donatello which, the guide told us, was carved from a single piece of pear wood. I was amazed at the eloquence of the face and battered body.
Very dim photo. For a clear close-up, click the "crucifix" link above.
It was so quiet and peaceful there, nestled in the woods, I hated to leave it for the golf course [was this a subtle indication of my future monastic vocation?] which admittedly is a very beautiful and scenic one, but after half an hour, a golf course is a golf course. We had lunch at the club, al fresco. I had the local specialty, tortelli stuffed with pureed potatoes (who says you can't have pasta with another starch?) topped with a light meat sauce. Very tasty.
Donatella wanted to stick around till Sergio (her husband) played the first few holes; we walked till the 4th hole, then she and I went back to the car and drove to nearby Scarperia (pronounced "skar-peh-REE-ah"), famous not for shoes (the Italian for "shoes" is scarpe) but for knives. It's a very cute little town. We went into a knife shop where there were three British women trying to buy knives with their heavily British-accented Italian. Donatella, listening to them, whispered to me, "Tu parli senz'accento, come una vera italiana (you speak without an accent, like a true Italian)." Yea!
Being hot, sweaty, and thirsty from our jaunt around the golf course, we stopped for gelato and a cola, which tastes very different from American Coca-Cola. Italians who don't like cola just haven't had The Real Thing! We did a tour of the church, leaving it just as a baptism for five babies was beginning (a wedding and a baptism in one day; I was expecting a funeral next, but no such luck).
We were taken on a tour of the Palazzo dei Vicari, led by a very knowledgeable and enthusiastic young girl who spoke with an incredibly heavy local accent--not only were her hard c's aspirated, as they are in Florence (cosa, for instance, is pronounced "hosa" in Florence), but her t's were like th's, so fiorentino came out fiorenthino. But I managed to understand most of her account.
Palazzo dei Vicari
The thing that really interested me were these base sketches (abbozzi) for what were supposed to have become freschi (that's "frescoes" to Yanks). I learned through one of my language tapes how frescoes were executed, and there before me was the evidence: on the wall were traces of horizontal and vertical lines, forming a large grid; among the lines was a crude outline of the intended picture, all done in red. The artist would then have covered all that with a very thin layer of wet plaster, still being able to see the red lines and sketch through it, and then apply the true colors, only doing a few squares per day, because the plaster must be wet ("fresh," hence the name fresco) in order for the paint to become integrated with it, which is the essential difference between a mural and a fresco.
After seeing Scarperia, we went back to pick up Sergio at the golf course, changed clothes at the clubhouse, then went straight to Fiesole for a big Rotary Club dinner at a large hilltop villa.
From the gardens there was the most magnificent view of all of Florence. I felt so fortunate to have a teacher with such good connections, because how many tourists get to go to these great dinners in such wonderful homes?
When Donatella's friends heard I was a pianist, they of course made me play. There was an old Bechstein grand in the salon; the french doors that lined the entire back wall of the villa were opened to the garden, and I played and sang a number of things. Someone put "Ramona" in front of me, a wartime song I've never heard of (shame on me), but everyone there seemed to know it. It's a favorite of Sergio's, and he was so thrilled with the way I sang it, that I was happy they had made me perform.
There were a gezillion piatti, too many really, most of them prepared by the host and a couple of his jolly cohorts. Lots of octopus. Ugh. The only thing I liked was the chocolate cake that was made by a vivacious woman named Rita. She was the one who first insisted I play for them, taking me by the arm and literally dragging me to the piano. I liked her, though.
It was an absolutely beautiful night. A full moon rose over the neighboring monastery, huge and perfect, and when the dark finally set in, I stood for a long time at the rail of the garden, taking in the lights of Florence. Seeing that moon over it all, and Brunelleschi's duomo glowing softly in the distance ... I was moved to tears.
Monastery seen from the villa's garden. Unfortunately, you can't see the full moon in this photo.
During dessert, Sergio talked to me at length about music and what it meant to him. (He's an amateur jazz pianist; he formed a group with a few of his friends.) He told me that I was privileged to be a musician. After so many years of practicing and rehearsing and coaching, I sometimes forget that I indeed am privileged. He reminded me, and for that I'm grateful to him.
They made me perform again after dinner, and were all so kind and welcoming, that for the first time in my life I didn't mind being at a party or being the hosts' "party trick." All in all, it was an evening I'll never forget. It reawakened my soul and my gratitude to my art.
To be continued. . . .
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