Rattle Those Pots

August 23, 2004

Buon giorno!

I’m sitting again in the Internet café by home sending this. The bells from the Duomo just started ringing, and it appears that the pigeon by the Arno that had been putting a hex on me outside my little typing window has found another perch.

Divertirmento Sviluppi (Fun Developments)
Luca and Vieri, two of the fellows at our neighboring trattoria, have offered to bring us with them when they go to Chianti in mid-September to “oil and wine hunt” for the restaurant. They’ve made the invitation twice, so we really hope we can hitch along.

And speaking of Vieri, late this past Saturday night, he and his friend Lapo (the one I mentioned who’s taking banjo lessons and wants to go to law school in the U.S.), brought us to a funky little after-hours bar. We couldn’t for the life of us figure out how they even found the door, and then couldn’t figure out why we had to do some sort of registration when we arrived. As it turns out, apparently you can only get in if someone who’s already a “member” gets you in. Sort of silly, a la goofy New York club gimmicks, but it was still a chuckler, and turned out to be an awful lot of fun. A lot of American music played, and Vieri and Lapo both kept requesting Johnny Cash and bellowing the lyrics. The extremely funny part about it is that when they sing Johnny Cash, their Italian accents completely disappear, and they wonder what we’re laughing so hard at.

On the way to the bar at about 1 am we walked by the Duomo, and Vieri brought us inside the chain ropes to show us this odd circle of cement plunked right down in the middle of all of the slate stones on the street. The circle marks the spot where the top part of the cathedral ornamentation had fallen off at one point—and made an enormous dent in the street. Needless to say, I try not to stand on the circle anymore…

Storie di Magazzino Trattoria
Two other Magazzino stories (“Magazzino,” by the way, we learned means “warehouse”; the restaurant used to be an auto repair shop): We stopped in for lunch yesterday, and three Americans were sort of watching the extra treats and aperitivi (pre-meal drinks) that Luca brought to us. At the end of their meal, they came up to our table to see if we knew what they’d just eaten (the menu is in Italian). They’d eaten tripe and possibly lampredetto, as it turns out, and when they found out what it was, turned three shades of green. Thom tried to explain what the waiters and chef had showed us and explained to us about the cow stomachs during our first night there — until one of the women who was by then standing over our table said “I’m pregnant, so I’m sort of queasy.” Talk about changing subjects quickly—rapido, rapido!

We also learned that Piazza della Passera, the tiny piazza where our apartment and the three restaurants we write about are situated, was, until the 1950s, where Working Girls congregated. Services were offered in and around the piazza proper, turns out, because in 1957 or so it became illegal to offer anything within any of the buildings. Guess that made for interesting walks home for some of the vicini italiani (Italian neighbors). (“Passera” in the piazza name refers to willing women colorfully in slang, we learned.) We’ve seen a woman walking by the piazza, and other women in different parts of town, now and then, whom we assumed were trying to drum up business, but learning this tiny bit of town trivia was interesting in terms of things being more institutionalized (e.g., prostitution is still legal here under certain circumstances, while pimping, theoretically, is not).

All of which, I’d argue, adds to my creeping suspicion that Frances Mayes (“Under the Tuscan Sun”) is writing with a very rosy pen. She may have only included the sunny, begging-for-a-movie-contract parts. It’s not all charming, wind-swept olive groves and picturesque villas. She doesn’t mention that over 1/3 of the country is black-market labor. Or that the toothless corner grocer she writes about, while friendly and gracious, might have minded that he’s toothless because he was on a seven-year waiting list for dental surgery. (Under the Italian health system, people are often on a multi-year waiting list for needed surgery, and the call to come in for the operation you’ve waited years for could come at any moment. It’s part of the joke people here make about always having their cell phones on.) I certainly appreciate that we’re both enjoying our time here so far, no doubt about it - but I’m also increasingly getting the distinct impression that our books and movies definitely over-romanticize daily life here, and the more I learn and see, the more I’m eager to experience even more, on all fronts.

Americani a Firenze
I’m reading a great book right now about famous Americans in Florence and the American influence on the city. It’s packed with interesting trivia. Did you know that John Singer Sargent was born in Florence? Mark Twain traveled twice in Florence during his life, before returning a third time with his ailing wife, thinking the climate and lifestyle would benefit her (it didn’t, unfortunately).

Americans also have donated quite a bit to repair buildings and villas, works of art, and historic records, etc., that were destroyed either during wartime or natural disasters (such as an enormous flood in 1966 where floodwaters actually covered a considerable portion of the Duomo’s lower section).

It also surprised me to learn that during the 18th century and even part of the early 19th century, “art,” as such, was considered to be a “lower-class” profession or hobby in the U.S. It wasn’t until later in the century, as American painters — particularly portrait artists — gained greater prominence and acclaim, that Americans began to view artists in general — and travel to Italy, more specifically — as a required component of artistic development. Very interesting, I thought. Especially when you consider the Gilded Age and how the Grand Tour became an absolute necessity for wealthier Americans.

Passegiata
Late yesterday afternoon, we took a long walk up a steep hill into one of the hill towns above Florence. It was so interesting to see some of the villas, and how different many of the streets look. We passed one villa that Galileo had purchased for one of his sons, and also walked by Fort Belvedere. We didn’t have an itinerary in advance or anything, so we basically just meandered and stumbled on things. Awfully interesting to do the aimless meandering, though, we agree. And the hill walk was an ideal excuse for yet another cioccolato gelato.

Nothing else to report at this point. I hope everybody’s doing well. About to go check email to find out…

Tanti baci,

Jen