(Sorta) Northern Italy: Pisa

Changing countries has always seemed to me like changing planets. There can be no greater contrast in Europe that the one we experienced within a few days. We left Russia, a land of serious, quiet people and went to northern Italy, a land of a broadly expressive & noisy populace. From the colorful elegance of the Tzars and Catherine the Great we found ourselves suddenly plunged into the land of the Renaissance. Yes, it’s 2012 with cars, TV’s, computers, and sundry appliances, but to us, Italy is still stamped with life much as it was 500 years ago. The inner cities are old & preserved. The churches are in a state of constant renovation and the art therein is carefully protected. 

Leaning until.....

We landed in Pisa on an Easy Jet inter-european commuter plane. #3 immediately took charge after we caught the shuttle from the airport to the rental car plaza. Soon we loaded into a mid-size (European) Ford SUV with standard transmission. (For the record, automatics are available, but they are more expensive.) Hertz’ man-on-the-ground was a very amiable, nonchalant young man with the appearance of a Hell’s Angel. It was his job to hand over the rented vehicles with a brief explanation which he could do in decent English. (See, appearances never tell all.) He gave #3 a previously requested Garmin which refused to program, so #3 requested another. This second Garmin spoke French & tried her best to program, but she was a constant source of frustrations and cursing for the duration of our Tuscany tour. We really didn’t need her for driving into Pisa as the famous leaning tower looms on the horizon & it beckons with size & its ever strange angle. 

But, Garmina (as we call her in our family) was finally, after several detours, able to direct us to Hotel Verdi, named for Giuseppe Verdi the great opera composer, in the center of town where we took possession of our rooms. Soon we began our walk….because that is what being a tourist is about: walking.  Have to say I found the tower, completed in 1372, magnificent in its intricacy and frightening to stand near.  I asked JJ what was its purpose. (I should have known!)  He replied that it was part of the cathedral, familiarly called Il Duomo. Well, that edifice is a stone’s throw away, completely separate from the tower. Maybe at one time the bells pealed calling the faithful to mass. I still don’t understand its utility freestanding as it is, but there it leans and people actually line up & pay to climb to the top and look out over the city and the Arno river that runs through it. It’s a nice moneymaker & ready to be admired with its marble all cleaned and pearly white. The small, elongated, regular, decorative arches that encircle the tower are as unique as the fact that it leans. In the recent past the tower has been closed for mysterious works in order to keep it from tumbling down. One day it is going to fall. Probably there will be an earthquake like the one that happened the next day only 30 kilometers away in Modena, killing 16 people, injuring 35 and toppling a historic monastery. The law of gravity says it must fall. Some ever-trusting humans are going to perish.

Surely, this is a dome.

A red fish and a gray flat fish just behind.

The fun was yet to come. We began our search for a ristorante. It was Saturday night around eight & the sky was still very light. JJ and I were following our fearless leaders #3 and his well-travelled fiançée. We trust them implicitly when it comes to hotels and restaurants. They settled on an a osteria because those are a cut above a trattoria or a restaurant. The waitstaff was standing outside at the entrance eagerly awaiting customers and we were the first ones. I thought it was a bit suspicious that we were, as yet, the only ones. Would the food be any good? I shouldn’t have worried because by 9 o’clock both dining halls were jam-packed with talkative, happy, patrons. 

(“Mama, don’t you know everything is later in Italy?”) We ordered using a new esperanto language composed of French, English, and a few Italian words. The waiter was expert at understanding this lingua touristica. Before the chef cooked the main course of meat or fish, the waiter would bring it on a platter, uncooked for inspection and approval. Tuscan cuisine is just as good as any French regional cuisine, I guarantee. 

Each course was artfully plated.

We had to walk off a few thousands of the calories we had consumed so we took to the streets and found the grand strada along the Arno. Any other time I would not have enjoyed such a long walk, but this was reminiscent of a stroll down the midway at fair time; a wonderful surprise met the eyes with each turn of the head. On the riverfront a serious crafts market about a kilometer long was in progress. Against the high brick wall stood a long row of canvas stalls with beautiful wares & jewelry. The wide street was thick with perambulating pedestrians talking loudly, laughing, & gesticulating. Flashing police cars, taxis, and luxury vehicles regularly pushed pedestrians aside. Motorcycles made loud entrances & exits. (Not enough?) Kids would weave through the crowd on their mini-scooters. Bicycles were ever-present with a-ding-a-ling, “Step to the side, per favore, coming through!” It was all stimulating to the utmost. When we finally made it back to our peaceful hotel it was midnight. In the distance on the riverfront we could still hear the Saturday night revelers, but nothing could have kept us from falling asleep. Hadn’t we just walked about 10 kilometers? 

I realize these revelers are seated, but if you study this photo you’ll see how happy they seem, “talking, laughing & gesticulating.”